


Cracked

by avianscribe



Series: Shatter My Universe [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fairies, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Kidnapped Noctis, Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Wings, Alternate Universe Hopping, Animal Transformation, Blood, Body Horror, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Embarrassment, Episode Ignis Spoilers, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderswap, Hanahaki Disease, Hospitalization, Injury, MT Prompto Argentum, Octomer AU, One-Sided Gladnis, One-Sided Relationship, Prince Prompto Argentum, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Soulmate - Shared Pain, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Status Effects, Temporary Character Death, Uncle Ardyn Izunia, Vampires vs. Werewolves, Vomiting, prince!Ignis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 69,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/pseuds/avianscribe
Summary: Ignis is about to use the Ring of the Lucii, and Ardyn decides to put a stop to it by sending Ignis on a different journey -- one that takes him through a bunch of alternate worlds.# # #This is all because someone on the FFXV Creative Discord was writing about Ignis being thrown off a cliff, and someone else said “He'll be fine; he'll just land in someone's bed in a different fic”...





	1. Alternate Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit up front... this started as a crack idea. And I've had kind of a delightful time making Ignis extremely confused and uncomfortable. I've also had a lot of fun examining different fanfiction tropes. ^_^ We'll be visiting a _lot_ of different kinds of fic, and I'll be updating tags as we go... It's all staying pretty much Rated T and Gen (or one-sided) where relationships go.

In the shadow of Altissia’s towering arches, the rain bled through Ignis's coeurl-print shirt. The gauntleted hands of MTs pinched his biceps where they held him down… and in front of him, Ardyn crouched over Noctis. When the knife came out, Ignis threw off the MTs that held him down and took the Ring from the ground. He would protect Noctis, _no matter what…_

Ardyn’s eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, with his slimy smile.

Ignis didn’t care. But before he could thrust the Ring of the Lucii onto his finger, the air froze around him. He was held motionless, the Ring poised at his fingertip.

In the next moment, darkness shot out from around Ardyn and engulfed the two of them, blocking out the light and all sight of Altissia. When it dissipated, he and Ardyn stood alone, facing each other at the edge of the yawning gash of Taelpar Crag. Noctis was gone, the troops surrounding them were gone… He was no longer frozen, but he no longer held the Ring. He whirled wildy about, and then faced Ardyn again.

“Where is Noctis?” He demanded. “What have you _done?”_

“I’ve done nothing,” Ardyn said. “I'm only giving you a moment to consider some possibilities.”

“ _Possibilities?_ What can you possibly--”

“Ah,” said Ardyn, holding up a finger. “but you are about to do something incredibly rash that will have serious repercussions for you and your friends, and before you do it, I think you should reconsider.”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at,” Ignis said, “but I insist you return me to Noctis _at once!”_

“Temper, temper!” Ardyn cooed, and Ignis had to stifle the urge to stuff one of his gaudy scarves down his throat and shove him off the cliff.

“So,” Ardyn continued, “you think I’m playing a game, hmm?” Then he smiled and held his arms wide. “Just consider, my _dear_ chamberlain. What if you are just playing a role in someone _else’s_ story? What if the story’s creator had chosen to… take a different path with you. With all the options available, don’t you think there are much more interesting endings than the one you are about to embark upon? Don’t you think there could be more possibilities than the one the Astrals ordained for your… _King of Light?”_

“Noct has more nobility in his little _finger_ than you have in your entire--”

“ _That_ remains to be seen,” Ardyn interjected. Fury flashed briefly across his face, but he smoothed it and smiled his cruel grin. He took slow swaggering steps towards Ignis. “Hmmm, let’s do this, shall we?” he said. “I will show you what _could be_ . A plethora of choices the universe would give you if _anything_ was possible. Each of these alternatives is its own version of your story -- adding to aspects of it in ways that change your nature. Your history. Or adding elements of fantasy, even.” He chuckled, and spread his arms wide. “Just imagine how many different worlds there might be. And what might change about _you.”_ He gestured at Ignis.

“What are you getting at?” Ignis asked.

“Just this,” Ardyn said. “I will let you visit these different realities -- and then you will see which of those realities you might prefer… or you could return to your own, where your course is set.” Ardyn stopped, leaving a bare meter between them.

Ignis struggled against the impulse to back away. “You babble nonsense,” he said, glad that his voice remained steady.

“Do I?”

And then Ardyn… shifted. He closed the distance between them in a blink and sneered down at Ignis. “We shall see,” he said. He grabbed Ignis by the front of his shirt and lifted him off his feet. Ignis choked and struggled and grasped at Ardyn’s clenched fist to no avail. And then Ardyn swung his arm to hold Ignis out over the void of the Crag. His feet flailed helplessly over empty space.

Ardyn grinned. “You shall have to decide for yourself, I suppose.”

Ardyn let go.

 


	2. Two is a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis finds himself in bed... _several times_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this trying to speculate canon!Ignis's POV, based solely on what we're given in the game; no offense to any ships!

In freefall, Ignis had plenty of time to panic, to grieve, to regret. The Crag was very deep. Time seemed to slow, and he watched the rocks below yawn large to meet him. The impact was a sharp shock…

And then he shot up in bed, gasping.

It took a moment for him to recognize his surroundings -- a hotel room, from the look of it, generic enough that he couldn’t guess where. He took some long slow breaths and willed his heart to stop pounding. He pressed his hand against his chest...

He had no shirt on.

It was unlike him. He _always_ wore his soft flannel button-up pyjamas to bed. But more than that, he had no idea why he was _alive_ . Nothing could have survived that fall. _Where was Ardyn?_ And how had he ended up in a bed? He patted his torso, feeling around for the wounds he was sure should be there-- evidence of a fall from a great height. But he was whole. In fact, he felt better than he had in weeks -- well-rested, and… oddly content, under his puzzlement and fading panic. Not exactly clean, but certainly not filthy, as he had ended up so often on their journey.

Something else drew itself to his attention while he puzzled. He was missing more than just his shirt. Under the sheet, he was completely nude. He clutched the edge of the sheet and drew it slowly to his chest.

Beside him, something made a soft, sleepy groan. He froze.

“Ign’s…?” said an extremely familiar, very sleepy voice.

Ignis turned his head… and next to him lay Prompto, the sheet covering only to the small of his very bare, very freckled back. He was snuggling into a pillow close to Ignis’s side. Too close. Prompto’s eyes, half-lidded with sleep, peered up at him through his droopy morning hair.

“...’s too early,” Prompto said. “Lay down, Iggy...” Prompto patted the pillow next to him. “We c’n cuddle before we have t’geddup.” He gave him a sleepy half-smile.

Ignis had to say _something_ but he didn’t quite trust his voice. “Nightmare,” he finally choked out, and scooted towards the edge of the bed. He needed to find his clothes, and fast -- but instead of folded in a neat stack at his bedside, his clothes were strewn all over the floor, mingled with Prompto’s in a manner that suggested they’d removed them in some hurry, with little care.

Heat rose to Ignis’s face. He practically leapt from the bed, scooped up everything he could identify as _his_ , ignored Prompto’s sleepy protests, and hied himself towards the bathroom. He locked himself in, leaned against the door, and sank to the cold, tiled floor.

Prompto was a good friend and comrade, but Ignis could not conceive of how in their travels their relationship could have deepened, or indeed progressed to the point that…

His face burned.

“Ardyn,” he breathed, “what have you done?”

And then Ardyn was there, crouched in front of him. Ignis bit back a yelp and bunched his clothes protectively over his groin.

“Oh dear,” Ardyn said. “I thought you’d particularly enjoy starting with this one.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Should I give you more time here? It looks like the two of you had a lot of fun last night, and could have more, if you wanted.”

Ignis’s cheeks felt like they were aflame. “Thank you, _no_ ,” he said. “Get me _out_ of here.”

“Such ingratitude,” Ardyn said, and stood. He snapped his fingers.

And Ignis shot up in bed with a gasp.

It was the same hotel room. The floor was strewn with clothes again, some of them his. He dared a glance to the other side of the bed. His eyes landed on the broad expanse of Gladio’s tattooed back. He didn't need to look to know that Gladio was unclothed under the sheet that only barely covered his hips.

Gladio let out a gentle snore.

If Ignis had thought he was embarrassed before, he'd been mistaken.

In all the time he'd known Gladio, he'd been aware of two things: one, as an Amicitia, Noctis would always be his priority, before any kind of relationship -- and two, Gladio had a definite appreciation for women.

Ignis slid from the bed, grabbed his trousers and stepped into them on the way to the lavatory. He closed and locked the door and when he turned, Ardyn stood there, smirking.

“What. The. Hell,” Ignis said.

Ardyn put his hand up. “Come now,” he said. “Can you truly say you have never considered it?”

“Yes,” Ignis spat.

“What a pity,” Ardyn said, and snapped his fingers.

And Ignis lurched and gasped. He was in a bed again, but this time, someone's arms were wrapped around his bare torso, holding him down. The arms grasped him more tightly when he moved, and someone’s face burrowed into his chest. Soft hair tickled his chin. He peered down at the black fluff -- and swallowed in mortification.

At least the Prince was a deep sleeper in the morning.

Ignis struggled to wriggle out of Noct’s octopus grip, increasingly aware of his bareness and proximity. When Ignis had almost freed himself, Noctis let out a sleepy grumble and rolled away. Ignis froze until Noct’s breathing evened out again, and then he fled.

Locked in the bathroom once again, he turned to Ardyn.

“Never,” he hissed, furious.

“Oh?”

“He is… I am…

“Closer than brothers, I would imagine,” Ardyn cooed. “Together through all your most formative years. Well, there's more than one way for that kind of relationship to develop.”

Ignis was so apoplectic he couldn't speak. The impropriety, the political ramifications, his duty to the crown, _everything_ jumbled behind his tongue so that none of the words could form.

“Hmmm,” Ardyn said, “perhaps you will appreciate this better.” He snapped his fingers again.

And Ignis lurched up in bed. The same bed… but this time, very crowded. All three of his companions were in it, tangled together in a pile of sleepy bliss -- and he thanked the Astrals for small blessings that he was on the outside, not wrapped in Gladio’s death embrace in the middle of the bed, like Prompto was. It would have been impossible to extricate himself without waking at least one of them, if not all.

Ignis was beyond being embarrassed at this point. He didn’t gather his clothes; simply stormed away to the bathroom without looking back.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it quickly around his waist, then turned to face his tormentor.

“What do you think?” Ardyn smirked.

“I think this is a distraction, and you are trying to make me stray from my purpose," Ignis said through gritted teeth. “I wish to return _right now_ so I can continue what I was sworn to do.”

“And what was that?”

“Protect the King of Lucis from Imperial thugs.” _Like you,_ his inner voice added, but he was more than convinced now that Chancellor Izunia was no ordinary imperial.

“Oh my dear sweet advisor to the Crown,” Ardyn purred. “ If you only knew the truth of the Chosen King’s destiny, you would not be so quick to desire to return to it. Why do you think i am introducing you to these _most_ delightful alternatives?”

“What I desire--”

“Is irrelevant, “ Ardyn interrupted. “The important thing here is what the universe could have in store for you.” He made a sweeping gesture. “You ought to be flattered. It seems to like you quite a bit. Except when it has it in for you.”

“I have no idea what you're on about,” Ignis sputtered.

“Don't you, now?” Ardyn said, and smiled a poisonous smile. “Well, if this spicy setting isn’t to your liking, shall we try something a bit more soft?” And he snapped his fingers again.


	3. A Quick Pick-Me-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis makes fancy coffee, to his utter bewilderment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, thanks for the warm response to the first chapters! I hope this is as fun for you as it has been for me.
> 
> Again, I'm writing this as though it's canon!Ignis, trying to characterize him solely from info we have in the game... No offense to any ships!

Ignis blinked.

The smell of freshly-brewing coffee hit him like a brick to the temple. Ordinarily he would find it comforting, but coming to in a strange place -- _was this a café?_ \-- was not reassuring. He was leaning against a counter -- the wrong side of the counter, he thought, as it was all open shelves filled with sleeves of cups, bags of spoons, and other food service tools. His hands, planted on the counter in front of him, were the only things keeping him standing.

‘What has Ardyn done _this_ time?’ Ignis thought bitterly.

He glanced around. To his left, a register. To his right, more of the accoutrements of a café -- flavor pumps, napkin dispensers. In front of him, on the other side of the counter, stood a man dressed in business casual, holding a briefcase, his face getting more irate by the second.

“Hey, did you hear me?” the man said.

Ignis looked down. He was sporting an apron over a smart button-up, the top button undone to show off his skull pendant, which he could feel nestled in the hollow of his throat. His sleeves were rolled up, and a nametag pinned to his left breast proclaimed “IGNIS” in a bold font. He was dressed for café work. He looked back up at the… customer?... in front of him and sighed. “Beg pardon,” he said. “Could you repeat that?”

“I said that I want an upside-down caramel macchiato with soy milk and extra-dry foam.”

A fancy coffee. And Ignis was a barista. He tried to keep his face neutral, but he was disgusted. He, with his advanced studies in political sciences, military tactics and governance, a _barista_. He’d never been one for frufru coffees, and half the things this man was asking for were beyond him.

He drew himself up and opened his mouth to tell the man he could fix his own damn coffee when he heard Ardyn's voice clearly, as though he was speaking into his ear, saying “Ah ah ah! Now, don't spoil things in this world, or there will be world-shattering consequences that might just take you with them. Play along nicely, now.”

Ignis's mouth clicked shut. He jerked his head around, but Ardyn was nowhere near. The veiled threat in Ardyn's disembodied voice raised his hackles. He ached to act, but he couldn’t act without a plan, and he was truly out of his element. He needed more information.

Well, he was nothing if not adaptable. He had never worked in the food industry himself, but he knew what kind of professionalism he expected from service staff. He turned back to the waiting customer. “Coming right up, sir,” he said.

He started to turn away, but the customer said “Aren’t you going to ask for my name?”

Ignis blinked at him.

“It’s _Altair_.” Ignis was sure the man could not sound more condescending. “And you’d better spell it right this time.”

“Y... yes, sir,” Ignis said through teeth clenched into a smile, and turned to the brewing machines behind him.

Someone elbowed him. “Hey, Specs, you doing okay?”

Noctis.

Ignis felt a rush of relief and a shock of anxiety. _Why was Noctis working at a coffee shop?_ But… as a teenager, the _real_ Noctis had had a part-time job at a sushi place. Perhaps this was the same sort of ‘responsibility training’, just… in a different place.

But why would _Ignis_ be working in a coffee shop? As Noct’s advisor, he had other responsibilities and fine compensation as a Citadel resident and employee. He didn’t _need_ a café job. Did that mean… that he _wasn’t_ Noct’s advisor? Or that Noctis wasn’t the Prince of Lucis? That, perhaps, they were only work colleagues? Or that they knew each other some other way, and this was simply a job they’d picked up together?

If he was to trust Ardyn’s not-so-subtle message, Ignis couldn’t just _ask_ without revealing himself, so there was no easy way to find out. Regardless… even though this Noct might not be _his_ Noct ( ~~abandoned in the ruins of Altissia~~ ), chances were good that this Noct was still a friend.

Ignis sighed. “I’ll. Umm.” He paused. He had been about to say he was fine, but in actuality, he wasn’t sure he would be. He could barely remember the customer’s order, and he was certain he wouldn’t be able to fill it to the customer’s specifications.

“You seem kind of out of it,” Noctis said, with a nudge. “You wanna let me take this one?”

Ignis hesitated, then nodded.

Noctis gave him a warming smile. “I got this. You can get the _next_ guy.” And Noctis gave a nod back to the counter, but also a wink and a knowing smirk.

Before Ignis could puzzle what it meant, he glanced to the counter to see… Gladio. Standing there in a sharp polo shirt and slacks, a getup he wouldn't be caught dead in at home. He had a satchel slung over his shoulder by a strap, longer hair pulled back into a half-ponytail, looking for all the world like a trendy young professional, and he was alternately eyeing the menu and Ignis. Ignis glanced over his shoulder, but Noctis had already busied himself with taking the irate customer’s order. Ignis sighed again.

He had a feeling he recognized this story from somewhere, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to get in any deeper, but he was at Ardyn’s mercy. He approached the counter with trepidation, and managed a smile as he said, “May I take your order?”

Gladio’s smile was soft. “Oh, the usual. A chai latte with a shot of espresso, extra cinnamon.”

 _The usual._ So he was a regular, then.

“Coming right up,” Ignis said. Then before he knew it, he was manipulating the register, taking Gladio’s offered crowns, and making change with apparently-practiced ease. He pulled out a cup, whipped out a marker, and stopped himself just before he wrote Gladio’s name. For some reason, it… kind of felt like he wasn’t supposed to know. Or at least that he should pretend not to. “Name?”

Gladio’s mouth quirked. “Gladiolus.”

Ignis started writing it on the cup. Without thinking, he quipped, “Like the flower, hmm?” _Why did he say that?_

Gladio’s cheeks pinked, but he still smiled -- and Ignis supposed it was endearing. He smiled back. “It will be ready momentarily,” he said, and turned away.

“This is NOT what I asked for,” soared over the hum of coffeehouse noise. Ignis glanced over, and saw the other customer -- Altair? -- pushing his cup back towards Noctis. “I wanted _soy milk_ , and I asked for _extra dry_ foam.”

Whatever Noctis said in response was lost in the machine noise as Ignis found himself on autopilot, making the “chai latte with a shot of espresso, extra cinnamon” as though his body knew what to do, even though he himself did not. As long as he didn’t think about it too hard, there seemed to be some kind of muscle memory... an advantage, perhaps, of this strange universe-hopping. He topped the drink off with a dusting of cinnamon, then returned to the counter, where Gladio still waited. “Here you are, Gladiolus,” he said, and smiled again.

“Thanks,” Gladio said, and took the cup. His fingers brushed Ignis’s and… did they linger? Ignis met Gladio’s eyes as he pulled his hand away. Gladio looked away almost immediately and walked away -- but that moment was enough for Ignis to see something like longing in his eyes.

He was stunned.

With no small measure of consternation, He watched Gladio's back weave through the cafe just long enough not to register that Noctis had slid up next to him.

“So…” Noctis said, and Ignis jumped. “Did he give you his _actual_ name this time?”

 _This time?_ Then Gladio was definitely a regular, and had yet to give Ignis his real name… Until now. Did that mean…

Oh _no_.

“You know, I think he did,” he said automatically, in a voice full of hope he didn't feel.

The moments of disconnect, where his body acted of its own accord, were disconcerting. He was so discommoded that he didn't notice the new customer until they cleared their throat. He shook himself and turned. “How may I help y--” His jaw dropped. _“You!”_

Ardyn grinned at him.

Ignis clenched his fists against the counter. “You _can't_ do this to me.”

“Whatever are you talking about, my dear boy?”

Ignis leaned forward and kept his voice low. “You've landed me in a coffee shop meet-cute story with the King's Shield as my love interest and this must stop before it goes any further.”

“But this is _so_ entertaining.” Ardyn’s grin turned into a smirk.

“He is perpetually hitting up women wherever we go, and I’m not about to--”

Ardyn abruptly leaned in over the counter -- far too close -- and Ignis swallowed whatever else he was about to say. He fought the urge to step back. “I have no interest in what you _know_ , boy,” Ardyn purred. “I am here to show you possibilities. Then you can take all of them and do with them as you will.”

He leaned back again, his face full of malicious glee. He looked at ignis for a moment more, and then picked up a stray straw from the counter and idly rolled it between his fingers.

Ignis’s skin crawled. Then he remembered something Ardyn had said in the last world -- something about the “Chosen King’s fate” -- and he opened his mouth to ask what he'd meant, but Ardyn began talking again.

“The key to this kind of story,” he said, “is time -- time for developing relationships and budding romance. But we don't have that kind of time, because you don't have that kind of patience, so we're coming in right where things change and get… interesting.” And he smirked and gestured to where Gladio sat in the corner, glancing surreptitiously in Ignis's direction every other minute.

 _"No,"_  Ignis said. “I _refuse_ to be a barista, and Gladio and I have a professional relationship with which I am perfectly satisfied; you _can't_ do this to us.”

“I'm doing nothing," Ardyn said, putting his hands up. “This is simply how the story _goes_ in this world.”

 _“Get me out of here,”_ Ignis hissed.

Ardyn huffed. “Very well,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late admission... I'm not a coffee drinker, and have only been to Starbucks once to order a hot cocoa. I got coffee advice from the FFXV Writers Discord (they were all amazing and patient while I pelted them with questions), and any mistakes I've made in the naming or ordering of coffee are my own!


	4. The Soul of the Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis arrives in a world where everything's the same except this strange tattoo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tentatively planning weekly updates for now!

Ignis blinked -- and gasped at a sudden burning sensation around his left wrist. He raised his arm in time to watch a marking in iridescent blue erupt and lace across his skin in intricate filigree. Then the iridescence faded, and it was simply a tracing of opalescent filigree in the shape of lace-like wings wrapped around his wrist, with feathers meeting at the base of his palm. 

It was strangely beautiful.

“What is it?” Noctis said.

Ignis clutched his wrist to his chest and looked up. He was in Noctis’s old apartment, the one the prince had moved into as a high school student. Ignis stood at the kitchen counter, apron-clad, with the sleeves of his simple white button-up rolled to his elbows. He could feel his hair brushing his forehead in a style he hadn't worn for years, and he was, by all appearances, in the middle of carving a daggerquill breast into cubes. Thankfully, he had let go of the chopping knife when his wrist had started to hurt.

A teenaged Noctis, still in his school uniform, lounged on his old couch under the window, one arm crooked behind his head, and the other holding a newspaper above him so he could read it while lying down. His feet were in Prompto’s lap at the other end of the couch. Prompto peered at Ignis from behind his history textbook. 

When Ignis didn’t answer his question, Noctis glanced over at him.

“It’s… nothing,” Ignis said, fingering his wrist.

“Sure didn’t sound like nothing,” the prince said, and swung his feet off Prompto’s lap. “You didn’t cut yourself, did you?” Noctis sat up and dropped the paper on the coffee table. Then he froze and squinted. “No way,” he whispered. He stood, rushed forward, and reached across the kitchen counter to grab Ignis’s wrist. “Did this just...” He turned Ignis’s hand over, inspecting the fine filigree. 

Prompto bounced over to join him, and gaped over his shoulder at Ignis’s wrist. “Wow,” he breathed. “You know what this means?” and his voice was full of tentative glee. “You have a soulmate! Wow, this one is pretty neat!” 

“Yeah,” Noctis said. “Not like that new 'Glaive Nyx’s; I saw his in training last week, and it almost looks like a turd.” 

 Prompto snorted.

Ignis’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. He suppressed the urge to pull his hand away.

“I wonder who it is,” Noctis said, and traced along the lines on Ignis’s wrist with his thumb. 

“Yeah,” Prompto said. “Just think… someone somewhere is getting their mark that represents  _ you _ .”  

Noctis looked at Ignis’s wrist for a moment longer, and then let it go and walked back to the couch. Prompto followed close behind and flopped into the plush cushions again with an exaggerated whine.  “I hope I get  _ my _ soulmark soon.” 

“Dork,” Noctis said, and tossed a pillow at Prompto’s head -- which instigated a pillow-tossing scuffle that Ignis ignored.

A soulmark… whatever that happened to be, it was clearly culturally important in this reality. And a soulmate… Ignis wondered for a moment if that was what it sounded like -- if it was someone you were destined to be with from birth. Like you could be tied to someone at the will of the Astrals, or something, without any personal choice of your own. 

How utterly dreadful.

What he said (without thinking) was, “I’m sure you’ll get yours soon enough.” And he smiled, and fingered his wrist. 

The two boys calmed and looked at him and then smiled conspiratorially at each other. Ignis pretended not to notice when they returned to what they’d been working on -- some current events assignment, perhaps?

Ignis eyed the mark again. He wasn’t one for tattoos; he’d never had one done. If he had, he  _ might _ have chosen something like this -- something classy and understated. He looked closer. If he wasn’t mistaken… it… resembled the eagle’s wings on the Amicitia house crest.

He dropped his hand and stared out the window.

“When’s dinner?” Noctis asked from where he was slouched on the sofa, scanning the newspaper again. Ignis distractedly looked down at the daggerquill breast he had been ignoring. He checked the tablet propped against an empty pot and open to a recipe app he favored, and scanned the recipe. It was one he knew well, but the recipe here didn’t have any of the notes he’d added over the years. He hoped he could remember them. 

“Forty minutes,” he said in answer to Noctis, and got chopping. Ignis tried not to think about soulmates or soulmarks, or what it might mean for him now. He had a duty, and he would fulfill it, in spite of every nerve being drawn tight like a harp string. 

He wondered with irritation when Ardyn would show up  _ this  _ time, to mock him and send him reeling into a new universe variant. He startled at every little noise Noctis and Prompto made until Noctis asked him what had him so jumpy. Ignis waved a hand and blamed getting his soulmark, which they seemed to accept. When the daggerquill and egg over rice (a basic mother-and-child dish) was done, they sat down to eat -- Noctis and Prompto focusing on the food, and Ignis fretting about when the next shoe would drop. 

“This is  _ amazing,” _ Noctis said. “Tastes like something you've practiced for ages. I thought you said this recipe was new.”

Ignis sputtered and waved a hand dismissively… because naturally he  _ had  _ made this recipe many times; it was one of Noctis’s old favorites, and he’d adjusted it specifically to the prince’s taste. He abruptly realized that the first time he’d cooked a basic version of it was in this very apartment.

“It's  _ so good _ ,” Prompto said in a throaty moan that bordered on obscene. Ignis tried not to scowl at him.

They finished eating, and Prompto, claiming a late work shift, left with a cheerful “Thanks for dinner!” 

As the door closed behind his friend, Noctis cocked his head. “I think I'm done for the night and you can go home. I'll read those reports you brought and finish my math homework and head for bed.”

Ignis was flabbergasted -- but at the same time felt a surge of relief. Noctis was pretty observant, and could tell he was out of sorts; this was his way of letting Ignis off the hook without him having to  _ admit _ to anything. He sighed. “Are you sure?” he said, because he wouldn't be himself without some kind of pushback.

“Sure I'm sure,” Noctis said with a casual wave as he turned away. “Go get used to your soulmark. And let me know if you figure out who it is.” 

Ignis paused, then nodded. “All right,” he said, and gathered his things with the practiced efficiency of a routine he still remembered. Then he slipped his shoes on and headed out. He closed Noctis’s apartment door behind him and then leaned against it with a heavy sigh, the back of his head knocking lightly against it. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then pushed away. 

This world didn’t seem much different than his own, save for the soulmark. He lifted his wrist to look at it again, then let his hand drop and focused on remembering the path to the car. It wasn’t hard; he had walked this path hundreds of times, and it was no different… only changed by his jumping at shadows every step. He was convinced that Ardyn could show up any minute, walking around a corner, or just appearing behind him. The thought put him completely on edge the whole way down to the parking garage -- and when he arrived without incident, he was surprised. 

And unprepared. 

He had so expected to be interrupted by Ardyn and whisked out of the reality that he hadn’t pulled his keys from his pocket. He took a moment to do so, chiding himself for the carelessness and security risk of fumbling for something in a dark, covered parking lot. Then he was in his car, pulling out of the lot, and heading for his own small apartment near Noctis’s building.

Bitter nostalgia hit Ignis in a sudden wave. He was driving to a home that didn’t exist anymore, was likely part of the rubble in Central Insomnia. Not that his old apartment was anything to crow about -- the most he did there was sleep, really, and eat if he wasn’t taking his meals at the Citadel or with Noctis. It was silly to mourn a place he spent so little time. And yet, as he pulled out his keys to unlock the front door, he felt tears pricking his eyes. He paused, key hovering before the lock. 

“This is ridiculous,” he told himself, and unlocked the door to let himself in. 

The melancholy grew as he toed off his shoes and wandered through the apartment, setting his satchel in its customary place. He ran his fingers along countertops, along shelves of books, along the back of a stuffed reading chair. He lingered in the door of his bedroom. Then he retired to the kitchen. Everything was as he remembered it. He set his kettle on the stove to heat up, and pulled out a packet of his favorite tea blend. 

This was the first moment he’d had so far on this strange journey to breathe and think for a moment -- but his thoughts were so twisted and confused, he wasn’t sure what to think  _ about. _ He had left Noctis in a horrible situation. His only consolation there was that Ardyn was -- supposedly --  _ here. _ But how was he supposed to escape Ardyn’s strange web? Ignis was pretty sure he had no way to return on his own. He  _ needed _ Ardyn, much to his great displeasure. And Ignis had yet to discover what Ardyn had meant by “Chosen King's destiny”.

He sighed. There was nothing to do but face this -- and if Ardyn was going to insist that he not disrupt anything, he needed to know how to make everything go smoothly.

While he waited for the kettle, he pulled out his phone to check his schedule, ever grateful that he had always kept a meticulous calendar. Then the phone chimed in his palm and he jumped, almost dropping it. He fumbled with it, and caught it just before it fell to the floor. With shaking hands, he checked the on-screen notification.

**Gladiolus** [9:54pm] >>  You home?

It puzzled him for a moment. He could recall very few instances where Gladio would visit him at his home after working hours. Then he glanced at the soulmark on his wrist and considered its resemblance to the Amicitia crest and Noctis’s offhand ‘someone’s getting a mark that represents you’ -- and he shook his head. “Nonsense,” he thought. He pulled out a mug and set the teabag in it just so before he answered the text with a simple “yes”. 

The kettle whistled, he poured, and the tea steeped… and he had just removed the teabag and stirred in a generous dollop of Duscaean native honey when Gladio's rhythmic tapping came at the door. It hadn't taken long for him to get there so he must have already been in the neighborhood. Ignis carried the mug with him to the door and took a long sip to settle his nerves just as he pulled the door open.

Gladio-from-the-past stood there, face solemn and uncertain, in baseball cap and grey hoodie, the zipper slightly drawn down -- and it looked as though there was a smudge of something on the skin right below the hollow of his neck --

Three things happened almost simultaneously. Ignis's wrist started burning again. The mark below the hollow of Gladio’s neck began to glow. And in that moment Ignis got a better look at it and had the most embarrassing spit-take ever, spraying all over Gladio’s face and down the front of his hoodie.

The mark at the base of Gladio’s neck was a gracefully-filigreed coffee cup, with two daggers crossed behind it.

Ignis clapped the hand not holding a mug over his mouth. He met Gladio’s eyes and had just enough time to register the look of astonished annoyance and confusion on his dripping face before it was too much. “Excuse me,” Ignis gasped, and fled to his bathroom and locked himself in. 

He thought he heard Gladio calling his name, but he couldn't face him now that--

“Aww, it wasn't  _ that _ bad, was it?”

Ardyn.

Ignis met Ardyn's eyes, hoping his own conveyed the proper amount of irritation.

“Wouldn't it be nice,” Ardyn continued, splaying a hand across his chest, “to know that there was someone out there for us -- someone who was destined to be our life-long companion?”

Ignis made a frustrated “tsk” sound. “It sounds like the Astrals relieving us of our agency and free will,” he said. “I would never ask anyone to be burdened with  _ me _ .”

“What a shame,” Ardyn said. “He really does seem to like you.” 

Ignis heard Gladio call his name again, but it sounded like he'd remained at the front door, ever respectful of Ignis’s privacy. “Just get me out of here,” Ignis whispered. “I want to go  _ home _ .”

“Do you, now?” and Ardyn smiled that seadevil's smile of his. 

Ignis scowled back at him and opened his mouth, but Ardyn snapped his fingers before he could say what was on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on both [Tumblr](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/avianscribe) @avianscribe!


	5. Eight Arms to Hold You With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis is extremely upset to find himself at the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with yet another AU for Ignis to be confused and irritated about...! Again, no offense intended to any ships; I'm just basing canon!Ignis off what we know from the game alone, for the most part.

Ignis blinked. And then blinked again, in the sharp sunlight of Galdin Quay. He squinted around him, puzzled. He was sitting in swim trunks on a towel, under the shade of an umbrella... and in front of him, splashing and laughing, Prompto and Noctis frolicked in the waves.

It looked like paradise.

Ignis was livid.

He eyed the beach around him and sighed angrily. It was unfair, to be torn from his own reality, where Noctis lay unconscious at Ardyn's feet, where people were _dying_. Here, in the sun, with the waves lapping at the sand… The day was beautiful, but he couldn't enjoy it. Perhaps this was Ardyn's purpose -- to distract him, to get him to forget the conflict and what was at stake; perhaps to make him lose his resolve.

Ignis could _not_ allow that to happen.

He squared his shoulders and shook his head -- and found that he had clenched his fists into the towel he sat on. He slowly uncurled his fingers and straightened the towel flat again.

"Hey, Igster!"

He looked up to see Prompto beckoning to him. Noctis stood behind him, hands on hips. "Stop being a stick-in-the-mud and get in here!" Prompto yelled.

Ignis sighed. He couldn't afford to lose his vigilance. As inviting as the waves of the Quay looked, he just... couldn't. He stood and waved dismissively at Prompto and turned to poke around in their things for a shirt, ignoring Prompto’s indignant squawk. Ignis heard Noctis’s just-loud-enough “Never mind him; if he wants to have a stick up his--” and then Ignis was vigorously rooting through the day bag that he recognized as his, letting the noise of it drown out whatever rude thing Noctis was about to say.

Ignis found a familiar grey button-up and pulled it on -- and contemplated pulling trousers on over his trunks, but decided to let it go. He dusted as much sand from his feet as he could and slipped into a pair of sensible-looking black water shoes, bigger (and less eye-searing) than the other two pairs by their things. He grumbled a little that Noctis and Prompto weren’t actually _wearing_ them, hoping they didn’t step on anything sharp or poisonous ('What’s the point of _having_ water shoes in the first place, if you don’t wear them for their intended purpose?'). Then he walked up the slope to the resort, not sure what he was looking for, but certain that he was in no mood for the beach.

He wondered vaguely where Gladio was, and glanced around, searching the sand and the water for the Shield. He caught no sign of him.

Odd.

Gladio shouldn't be letting Noct out of his sight. Ignis decided to check around the restaurant, and hoped, in his foul mood, that he could keep his temper if he found the Shield flirting with someone.

He kept an eye on Noctis and Prompto, tossing each other into the surf. Thanks to the shape of the bay, he was able to walk all the way around the parking lot and into the resort proper without losing sight of the prince. It occurred to him that he shouldn't be leaving Noctis alone like this. He excused himself, perversely, with the thought that it really was _Gladio's job_ to be protecting the prince, anyway. Then he felt a wave of guilt.

Very well… he would quickly check for Gladio in the resort, and then hurry back so he was not leaving Noctis unattended long.

 

* * *

 

Gladio was not _in_ the resort.

Ignis meandered through the restaurant and made it all the way to the docks where the ferry was moored. He eyed the ferry with deep vexation. It mocked him, blithely taking on passengers. ‘If only it had been there when WE wanted it,’ he thought bitterly. He had to remind himself that their misfortunes weren’t the _ferry’s_ fault, but it didn’t help his mood. He made a disgusted snort and turned to look back across the water to where Prompto and Noctis played...

Something in the water caught his eye.

For a moment, he thought he saw something break the surface. It was gone now. The refraction of the water and reflections from the sun made it hard to see, but there was definitely something large in the water; something dark, swimming low now against the sandy bottom, away from the docks. Ignis knew there were large fish here -- Noct ( _his_ Noct) had caught one, once, just the last week when they’d visited _their_ Galdin Quay.

But this shape didn’t look like a fish.

Ignis tried to follow its course through the water, but he lost it when a ripple of wave cast the sun brightly into his eyes. He squinted, and when he looked again, he couldn’t see it anymore. He pursed his lips and walked back into the resort proper, looking again for Gladio.

 

* * *

 

His search was fruitless. Gladio was nowhere to be found. And when he thought about it again, Ignis realized that their pile of things had all been Prompto’s and Noctis’s and his own -- _nothing_ there looked like it belonged to the Shield. Ignis didn’t want to consider what that might mean, in the broader scheme of things… but if Gladio wasn’t with them, he had to take responsibility himself.

Ignis grit his teeth and headed back through the resort, stopping only to pick up a recent issue of the local paper. It was delightfully, frustratingly, completely mundane… and gave him no clear idea of why the prince, along with his advisor and best friend, would be gallivanting around Galdin Quay like they were on holiday. _Without_ the Shield.

Ignis worked his way back down the beach slowly, watching his charges and scanning the rest of the resort’s beach. It wasn’t particularly crowded, and Gladio would be hard to mistake anywhere. He _wasn’t here._

Noctis didn’t seem to be worried at all; he was completely engrossed in dunking Prompto in the surf and tossing seaweed at him. The prince’s complete unconcern worried Ignis even more… that Gladio being _missing_ was the _normal state of things_ in this… whatever alternate world this was that Ardyn had thrown him into.

Ignis made it to their collected things just as Prompto and Noctis pulled themselves giggling out of the water. Ignis had enough presence of mind to say “Isn’t it time to reapply sunscreen, Noct?”

“Prompto needs it more,” Noctis said, and it was true; Prompto’s bare, freckled shoulders were definitely pink. Noctis pulled a bottle of sunscreen from a bag and tossed it for Prompto to catch. Ignis listened to them banter but kept his eyes on their surroundings, the neighboring sunbathers, the fisherman at the dock.

His eyes caught a shadow just as it dove beneath the surface again. Ignis could only just see it dart into the waves, swimming parallel to the beach away from the resort.

“What’s the matter?” Noctis asked, nudging Ignis’s shoulder with a fist.

Ignis met his eyes. Noctis’s face was all open curiosity, touched with concern. “Er…” Ignis started. “I thought I saw something in the water.” He looked back, and Noctis looked too -- but the shadow was gone, disappeared around the other side of the dock. “Something quite large swam that way.” Ignis gestured.

“Wanna check it out?” Prompto said. “We’ll come with!”

Ignis hesitated. “If you don’t mind,” he said finally. “And I’d be more comfortable if the two of you stayed out of the water until I can figure out what it was.”

“Puh-leeese,” Noctis said, rolling his eyes. “You’re as bad as Dad.” But he pulled on a T-shirt and slipped into his own water shoes and nudged Prompto to do the same. Soon the three of them struck out down the beach, Prompto with his camera hanging from a strap around his neck, jabbering excitedly about using his macro lens to photograph the tidepools.

Of course, their group excursion didn’t last long.

Noctis made a quick (and predictable) detour to the fishing shack by the dock, and then he was begging off exploring to fish instead. “I’ll just be here,” he said, pulling his rod from the armiger.

Prompto made a small noise of indecision, glancing between Noct and Ignis -- but then, good friend that he was, said, “I’ll keep you company. But _you owe me_ \-- you’re coming with me to the tidepools later.”

Ignis wasn’t offended; indeed, in his current mood, he would much prefer going at his own pace, not having to wait for Prompto to photograph every damn interesting thing he came across. Ignis also could be more sure of not saying anything to compromise himself in this different world, where the only thing that seemed to have changed was Gladio’s presence.  

Ignis took off at a brisk walk, eyes on the water.

It took him a good half-hour to reach the rocky outcroppings marking the end of the beach. All that time, he watched the waves and saw little -- just the occasional flicker of dark, coming in and out. The ripples and reflection of the sun obscured it enough that he couldn’t tell what it was -- or even if it was the same thing he’d seen before.

Once in the rocks, he wended his way up towards the cliffside, skirting the tidepools and ignoring their myriad creatures. He would leave them to Prompto to investigate later; he wanted a better look at the ocean, to see if he could find a vantage point to counter the sun’s reflections. Soon he had climbed to a rock a good ten feet above the surf. He planted his foot on a patch slick with algae and suddenly his feet had no purchase.

He slipped.

He did not fall far, but he hit the water hard enough to shock the breath from his lungs. He lost his glasses almost at once, and floundered, trying to get his head above water. The current pulled at his legs, and try as he might, he couldn't get his feet underneath him to get traction on the seafloor. He began to panic.

Just as he thought he couldn't hold his breath longer, something firm and fleshy wrapped itself around his waist and lifted him from the water. Whatever it was deposited him on a rock above the lapping waves, and he lay there gasping and coughing for a moment. The thing around his waist uncoiled itself and withdrew. After a few shuddering gasps, he was finally able to look up.

There, half-in and half-out of the water, leaning against the rock Ignis rested on, was... Gladio. But a weird Gladio, with a strange blue cast to his skin and gleaming scales scattered across his cheekbones, and... were those fins around his ears? or gills? And his tattoo didn't look right. Ignis squinted at it, and realized that instead of an eagle, it was a monstrous squid, with tentacles writhing around Gladio's arms where feathers should be.

Ignis knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself.

Gladio reached a hand toward him. Cradled in it were Ignis's glasses. He took them with a mumbled "thanks" and wiped them ineffectually with a corner of his sodden shirt before putting them on again. He’d pushed the water spots enough out of the way that he could at least see through them. He met Gladio's eyes, and saw curiosity there.

"You saved me," Ignis said.

Gladio snorted. "Couldn't have you drown right in front of me," he said.

Ignis rocked back on his heels. "Thank you," he said.

Gladio gave him a half-smile. "You're interesting."

Ignis's chin dropped. "It... it was you. That I saw in the water. The shadow."

Gladio grinned at him, exposing sharp teeth. "I was watching you. You're interesting." Then he leaned forward, pulling more of his torso out of the water. He peered at Ignis with a simmering intensity. "Come see me again?"

Stunned, Ignis froze for a moment... then nodded.

Gladio's expression relaxed. "Good," he said. "Come here, to these rocks, when the tide is higher tonight."

Ignis nodded again, and Gladio smiled his disconcertingly sharp smile again. Then he swiveled around and dove, and... the lower half of his body wasn't legs, but rather the tentacles of an octopus.

"Sweet Astrals preserve us," Ignis cried, and scrambled backward. He watched Gladio swim away under the surface until the reflection of the sky obscured him -- which didn't take long; octopus-Gladio was fast.

Ignis had so many questions.

"You know, I think he likes you."

Ignis whirled around.

Ardyn smirked at him from the rocks further up.

 _"What is this?"_ Ignis demanded, gesturing wildly at the empty sea where Gladio had just been.

"Exactly what it looks like."

"But... but how can Gladio be Noct's Shield if he's some kind of... _mer_ -creature?"

"He can't. But perhaps the point of this story isn't the Shield's connection with His Majesty, but his connection to _you_." And Ardyn smiled.

Ignis’s skin crawled. "You seem to have a great desire to see me paired with Gladio," he growled.

"But you two make such a lovely pair!"

Ignis rolled his eyes. "Stop being tiresome."

"If you say so," Ardyn said with a lazy shrug. "Hmm... Why don't we explore something completely different?"

"Why don't you send me _home?"_ Ignis said.

"As you wish." And Ardyn's smile widened. He snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The octomer idea is inspired by Mintfoxmimi's fun octomer art of the bros. Check out her work at http://mintfoxmimi.tumblr.com/
> 
> Inside-the-writer's-brain time... I rewrote this chapter at one point, because my first attempt was _booooring._ Even so, it's not as funny to me as earlier chapters. Hopefully my next chapter makes up for it. >:3
> 
> I am still adding new AUs to my outline as I think of ideas for them -- and if there's a particular trope I haven't addressed that you would like to see, let me know! (I can't guarantee that I'll use it, but if I think I can, I'm always glad to entertain prompts...!) That said, I have 10 more AUs planned out already, and I'll let you know if your suggestion is already under consideration. ^_^ 
> 
> Thanks for reading this dumb idea! XD
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/avianscribe) @avianscribe!


	6. The Alpha-through-Omega of It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis has no bloody clue what this is and just wants to know how quickly he can get out of here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, reading Ignis in an a/b/o fic: “I wonder what the *real* Ignis would think of *this*...
> 
> I know a/b/o dynamics are not to everyone’s taste, and if you’re really squicked by it, you may safely skip this chapter. However! The whole point of this chapter is that *Ignis is absolutely appalled by it*... so there’s that! Also, I don’t go into ANY functional details (we’re staying rated T here), and I pretty much only deal with the trappings of the a/b/o trope. (So my apologies to anyone who might be here looking for a serious a/b/o fic… I’m playing this one for laughs.) 
> 
> And if you don’t know what a/b/o is… you can find out more than you probably wanted to know about it on fanlore.org -- with the warning that content there may be mature.

Ignis blinked and immediately his nose was assaulted by the strangest cacophony of strong smells he had ever experienced. Butterscotch and citrus and mint and cedar and hickory smoke and roses and a plethora of other scents too mingled to identify. It overwhelmed him enough that he barely registered that he was in the Citadel's council chambers, and the room was full of people and pleasant chatter and the aftermath of a meeting recently adjourned.

He stood behind a chair with a hand on its back as though he had just pushed it in. His other hand held the satchel that he hadn't used since the last council meeting he'd attended back in Insomnia. He felt a wave of familiar painful nostalgia -- and then was knocked out of it by the sharp astringent aroma of a passing council member. In fact, every person who passed him sent a wave of some individual fragrance or other, each one sickeningly mingling with the next.

His stomach rolled.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, jolting him out of his stunned perplexity. 

His eyes finally focused on Councilman Argus, who stood beside him, smiling. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations, Scientia!” The councilman handed him a sheaf of papers. “Everything's been approved. Indeed, they found you to be the perfect omega; a fine proxy.”

Ignis blinked at him. He understood all the words, but they made no sense together. Also, he slowly became aware that the smell of citrus and sandalwood that had been foremost in the cacophony of smells around him seemed to be wafting from the councilman. Plus the hint of something else he couldn't identify -- something different.

Something some part of his brain thought he should respect, a little.

The man was still babbling nonsense. “Prince Noctis's union with Lady Lunafreya will be a fine match, but they can't very well have heirs if they're both alphas, can they? Haha! Adding one more to their pack was a brilliant solution, brilliant! And such an honor for you, to be the mother of the heirs of both Lucis and Tenebrae.”

“Pardon?” Ignis said, his confusion mingling with alarm. Mother?  _ Him? _

“Haha, gauche of me, my apologies!” And Councilman Argus winked brazenly.

Ignis could think of nothing to say. He looked down at the papers in his hands, but could make just as little out of them as he could from this conversation.

“You're still stunned, I see!” Argus continued, with a chuckle. “Well, it will sink in soon enough! And even though it will be a royal wedding, you'll still want to file these…” and he patted the stack of papers in Ignis's hands, “... with the domestic partnership office, just to make sure everything’s on the up and up.” Then the councilman walked away, with a last cheerful “Give my regards to your uncle!”

His uncle -- who was dead in Insomnia, with the rest of Lucis's former government. Except… not in this strange alternate universe, apparently.

The swirling smells in the crowded room began to overwhelm him, and he grew dizzy. He started to sway, but caught himself -- and instead, shoved the stack of papers into his satchel and walked briskly to the nearest door and out into the hall. 

The air here was clearer, cleaner. The density of people thinned, though he still caught strong scents when people walked past him too near. He leaned against the wall and heaved a sigh. This was not  _ home. _ Ardyn had cheated him again, his  _ “as you wish” _ nothing more than a farce. 

And so much about this place was  _ off. _

“Ignis!”

He looked up to see Noctis approaching -- a happy-looking Noctis, not weighed down by the loss of his father and the burden of the king's mantle taken on too soon. A Noctis with an uncharacteristic tenderness in his eyes. 

A Noctis who took a deep breath -- and whose expression abruptly changed to concern.

“Igs?” Noctis said, and rushed to his side. “What's the matter?” And with Noctis came a wave of scent that almost overwhelmed him -- fresh grass and leather, and something else, something rich -- and that thing in the back of his mind told him yes, yes -- he will make everything all right, he will protect me, he is  _ Home _ \-- 

Ignis swallowed and thought particularly murderous thoughts in Ardyn’s direction.

It was everything he could do to retain his composure. He straightened, clinging to his years of habitual stoicism. “Nothing, Highness,” he said. “I was just--”

_ “Highness?” _ Noctis said with a laugh. “Since when do you still call me that? And I  _ know  _ something’s wrong; I could smell your distress from halfway down the hall.”

Ignis’s mouth fell open. 

Noctis’s eyes searched his face. “Yep, something’s definitely wrong. You can tell me or not, but you’re going to rest until you calm down.” 

“Noctis, I --” 

_ “Go rest, Ignis.” _

And there was something in Noctis’s voice then -- some quality that whatever hindbrain Ignis now had in the back of his mind could not disobey. Except he didn’t know where to  _ go _ , and for a moment he panicked, unable to comply.

“Our quarters here are closer than the apartment; I’ll go with you for a bit and get you settled in.” And then Noctis slipped an arm around Ignis’s back, and the grass-and-leather scent increased, mingled with something else… something soothing. And soon Ignis’s nerves were relaxing, his tension dissolving away against his will.

_ This whole place was so incredibly off. _

“This isn't about the betrothal, is it?” Noctis said conversationally. “I mean, I know you were worried before that it wouldn't pass the council's muster, but I thought everything checked out. Did they say something in the meeting?”

“I'm afraid I don't remember much of the meeting,” Ignis said, for lack of anything else to say.  He could remember none of it, in fact -- hadn’t actually been there for any of it -- but he was loathe to admit that to Noctis.

Noctis peered at him with concern. “Are you getting sick?” he asked. “Or...” -- and Noctis’s cheeks pinked up -- “do you think your heat is coming on soon? It’s a little early, but if it's  _ that, _ I can see that your schedule is cleared so you can hole up at home.”

Heat…?

Ignis was now acutely certain that he  _ reeeeally _ didn't want to know. He needed to find Ardyn and get out of this strange reality as fast as possible.

But in this moment, he couldn't. Not with Noctis's arm around his waist. Not with the comforting scent enveloping and calming him. Not with Noctis's directive to  _ “go rest, Ignis” _ pulsing in his hindbrain. Noctis pulled him along, and he had to follow.

Noctis's quarters were not far. Ignis was relieved to see the same set of rooms he was accustomed to overseeing for Noctis at the Citadel on his own reality. Noctis pushed the door open… 

Everything was different.

The smell washed over him first -- a mingling of scents that his hindbrain said was Home -- but it was not the austere, sterile, mostly untouched rooms Noctis maintained at the Citadel in his own reality. It was… comfortable. Lived in, made use of, and obviously set up for the use of more than one person. The walls decorated with a combination of Noct’s taste and  _ his own _ .

And in the living room, next to the familiar leather sofa, lay a pile of blankets and pillows that his hindbrain latched onto. To his rational mind, it looked like a mess -- but his hindbrain told him it was  _ perfect _ . Noctis let go of his back, and his legs propelled themselves against his will and before he knew it, he was burrowed in the softness, covered in a blanket with only his head poking out, inhaling the scent of it and relaxing fully.

“There you go,” Noctis said. “Take some time to breathe easy, and I’ll be back in an hour or so.” 

Ignis looked up at Noctis, feeling deep bafflement and mortification that he hoped was not written all over his face. Noctis's own expression was fond and soft, and he leaned down and planted a kiss on Ignis's forehead. There was a waft of that comforting scent again, almost enough to put Ignis to sleep right there. Then Noctis left.

It took a while for Ignis to shake off the stupor. His niggling hindbrain was convinced he needed to  _ “go rest, Ignis” _ still and as a result he actually did rest. When he blinked blearily awake at last, the first thing he registered was a regular thrumming sound vibrating his whole body. For a moment he couldn't identify where it was coming from. Then he realized with horror that it was coming from himself. He… he was  _ purring _ . How, he had no idea. He froze, and the sound instantly stopped. 

The second thing he registered was how comfortable he was in this… this  _ nest. _ That’s the only word that fit what it was. It smelled strongly of that grass-and-leather-and-Something-Else scent that Noctis smelled like. It slowly dawned on Ignis that it was because the black thing he was laying his head on was not in fact a pillow but was actually one of Noctis’s used sweatshirts. At this realization, he had the shocking experience of simultaneously feeling revolted and wanting to rub his face in it.

“Aww, isn’t this precious.”

Ignis jolted up. 

Ardyn, with his smug smile, lounged on the sofa next to Ignis's nest, legs crossed and arms stretched along the back, looking for all the world as though he’d been there the whole time Ignis had been resting. Ignis hadn’t noticed him arrive, because he had no scent -- and even now, Ignis’s hindbrain clamored at him about how Wrong it was for Ardyn not to have any smell at all.

Ignis stood and shook off the blankets he’d thoroughly nestled himself into. “What IS this place?” he demanded.

Ardyn peered up at him with his usual smirk and cocked his head. “A fascinating extrapolation and speculation on the details of… biology.”

_ “Biology?” _

“Mmm, indeed. You, my dear advisor, are an omega, and Prince Noctis is your alpha.”

“What does that even  _ mean? _ NO, I don’t want to know,” he said, waving a hand when Ardyn opened his mouth. “Just… get me out of here.”

“Are you sure? This could be one of those incredibly fascinating social commentaries on gender roles and discrimination.”

“Thank you, no, I want out. Before Noctis comes back.”

“Very well.” And Ardyn snapped his fingers again.

 

* * *

 

Ignis blinked -- and was assaulted by smells. Again. He was in the Council Chambers again, and  _ again  _ appeared to just have stood up from his chair. This time, he was confused and angry, and the smells around him only made him more so. Something about the room’s scent was oppressive -- something he didn’t understand, but that his newly-discovered hindbrain did. He was being challenged, threatened. He didn’t like it. He bristled.

This time, the council members who passed eyed him with outright superiority and disdain, and the smells rolling off of them were tinged with something sour. Without thinking, he stared right back at them, meeting their eyes and trying to resist the urge to curl his lip at them. 

This time, he held a sheaf of papers in his hand. The header on the top form read “Department of Domestic Affairs: Pack Registration”, and underneath it, a subheader read “Pack members by secondary gender”. Three short columns below were labeled “Alpha”, “Beta”, and “Omega”, and in each column were names. Under Alpha was listed “Amicitia, Gladiolus” and “Scientia, Ignis Stupeo”; under Beta, one “Lucis Caelum, Noctis”; and under the Omega column, one “Argentum, Prompto”. At the bottom of the sheet, a large red stamp yelled “DENIED” at him.

It crumpled around where his hand gripped it.

His hindbrain snarled. He almost did it out loud, too, but before it escaped his lips he reined it in, leaning again on his years of training in comportment and diplomacy. He took a couple deep breaths (trying to ignore the influx of overbearing scents as he did so) and strode to the door.

In the hallway, Noctis waited, with Prompto cowering behind him. 

Prompto should never cower. The thought of it made Ignis grit his teeth.

The wave of their scents rolled over him -- Noctis’s familiar grass-and-leather was the same, but muted, and the underlying  _ something _ was different. Prompto… smelled like a cinnamon roll.  _ Of course, _ Ignis thought ruefully. And Prompto’s scent was tinged with something else entirely, something alluring… something Ignis wanted to protect. 

“How did it go?” Prompto asked with hesitation.

Noctis sighed. “I think the look on his face tells us enough, Prom,” he grumbled.

Ignis growled in frustration. Prompto gave a small whimper. It startled him enough that he looked at Prompto properly for the first time -- Proud, strong, cheerful Prompto, reduced to this whimpering, cowering caricature.

“Relax, Prompto,” he said without thinking.

Prompto's eyes nearly rolled up into his head, and his knees buckled. Noctis only just caught him, preventing him from falling to the floor.

“Easy on the alpha voice,” Noctis said sharply, glaring at Ignis. “You laid it on a little thick there.” He helped Prompto right himself, looped Prompto’s arm over his shoulder and turned to walk away, Prompto staggering along beside him. “Let's get to our rooms and then we can figure out what to do next.”

Ignis watched all this with growing bafflement.  _ He _ had done that to Prompto? How? This whole thing was beyond him, and he  _ still  _ didn’t want Ardyn to explain. He almost growled again. But he gulped it back and stormed after Noctis, following him yet again to his Citadel rooms. Despite Prompto’s now-relaxed state, he emitted waves of heightened bitter scent that Ignis's hindbrain not-so-helpfully interpreted as  _ distress. _ He wondered distantly if this is what he had smelled like to Noctis in that other just-as-strange world. The scent had his hindbrain scanning all the corners of the hallway, searching for whatever was threatening Prompto… which nothing was.

They arrived at Noctis's rooms -- their rooms? -- and… it was crowded and lived-in and obviously furnished for a larger group. Noctis, certainly; and he caught sight of his old favorite coffee mug -- the one with “I'd rather be cooking” printed on it -- on the kitchen counter. A chocobo mug (Prompto's?) sat next to it. And, to his surprise, Gladio’s heirloom short sword hung over the false mantle in the living room, so clearly he had a presence here as well. And there was a nest again; a pile of blankets, pillows, and dirty laundry (Ignis could see one of his own shirts in there) next to the sofa. Prompto wobbled over to it directly and soon all that could be seen of him was a tuft of blonde poking up from under the top blanket. 

Ignis took all this in with stoic resignation. It was all so strange, and he understood so little of it.  _ He had to get out of here. _

“Mind if I see those?” Noctis said, and reached for the papers in his hand. 

Ignis tried to smooth them out, then handed them over.

“Any ideas why they turned it down _ this time?” _ Noctis said, glumly flipping through the papers, scanning each one.

A muffled sob came from the nest.

Something rose inside Ignis -- something furious and feral -- and for a moment he almost thought he was going to throw the kitchen table, except there was no one  _ here  _ that he wanted to throw it  _ at _ . He managed to restrain himself. “Excuse me, I--” he said, his voice sounding oddly strangled, and he fled to the lavatory.

He slammed the door behind him without meaning to, and almost jumped when he saw Ardyn, though he should have expected to find him there. Ignis snarled. 

“Oh, temper, temper!” Ardyn tutted. “ You're really letting your baser nature take over.”

“Baser nature?” Ignis growled. “You dropped me in this crazy place full of strange smells and stranger social constructs…! Everything looks normal, but nothing is the same! The scents, and the nest, and -- and the  _ purring!” _

“Ah, now now,” Ardyn said. “Keep your voice down; you’ll alarm your packmates.”

_ “Packmates?” _ Ignis hissed. Then shook his head. “Nevermind that, just -- get me out of here!”

“Very well,” Ardyn said, giving him a languid smile. “I’ll give you something more interesting to consider.” He snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/avianscribe) @avianscribe


	7. Aren't We All a Little Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things look mostly normal, until they don't...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning -- this chapter isn't as funny as previous chapters. I am exploring angsty tropes as well as fluffy and ridiculous ones, so...! Tags have been updated! (Vomiting & Body Horror for this chapter...)

Ignis blinked and found himself sitting in a camp chair at a haven, cup of coffee almost to his lips. He startled, and the jostling spilled some of the coffee into his lap. He hissed and jumped from his seat. He set his mug down on the cooking table and grabbed a towel to dab at his trousers. He hoped it would dry before Noctis or Prompto and their puerile humour discovered him.

The last world had left him feeling rattled. He took an experimental breath -- and was greeted by the normal smells of camping: the crisp scent of dew-laden pines, and the rich fragrance of earth. He sighed with relief. So much had been beyond his control in those worlds, his moods influenced so heavily by the scents around him. He was no longer overwhelmed by weird pheromones. … Part of him felt oddly empty.

Ignis shuddered and shoved that feeling decisively away. He never wanted to feel that out of control again.

So where was he this time?

Ignis glanced around. It was just after dawn, it looked like… and their haven was nestled under a giant arch, placing them somewhere in central Duscae, if he was any judge. The tent was pitched in its customary spot, with the camp chairs scattered around the…

There were three camp chairs. Where was the fourth?

He checked behind the kitchen table, but it wasn’t there. He glanced around the haven but couldn’t see it from where he stood.

Finally, he peeked inside the tent. Gladio’s sleeping bag was empty -- he'd probably gone out for a morning run -- and Noctis was still curled in his own bag, nestled against the far wall of the tent.

There was no sign of Prompto. None. Not a bed roll, not his travel bag or camera gear… nothing. Ignis looked back toward the campfire. Where could Prompto be? What could have happened to him? Ignis thought back to the world where Gladio was some kind of mer-octopus and hoped to high heaven it wasn't something weird like that.

Gladio took that moment to return to camp, dressed in sweats and a black tank top and damp from his morning run. “Hey, Iggy,” he said, and grabbed a towel to wrap around his neck. “Coffee ready?”

“Y... yes,” Ignis said. He had to assume so, since he'd been in the midst of drinking some before. He turned to the cooking table.

Sure enough, the pot on the camp stove was nearly full. He poured a mug for Gladio, who accepted it with a gruff “thanks” and took a careful sip. Then Gladio said, “Guess it’s time to wake up the princess.”

“Ah… yes. Breakfast will be ready soon.” Ignis eyed the frying pan full of sliced bacon already sizzling. He pulled out another pan and a bowl and started mixing some eggs and spices for a good scramble. Once the eggs were over the heat, he pulled out a handful of paper plates.

In the meantime, Gladio started working on Noctis. Ignis could hear the first of the young prince’s grumbles through the canvas. Just as Ignis was plating breakfast, Noctis finally staggered from the tent and flopped into the nearest camp chair. He leaned his head back and almost immediately was headed back to sleep.

Gladio patted his shoulder as he walked past. “None of that,” he said. “We’ve got places to be.”

Noctis replied with an unintelligible grumble.

Gladio approached the cooking table, and his brows knit with confusion. “We expecting company?”

Ignis paused. “What?”

“Four plates. Who's joining us?”

Then Ignis remembered… Prompto wasn’t with them. At all. “My pardon,” he said, mentally berating himself for the slip. “Not sure why I did that.” His face burned with embarrassment. He divided the fourth plate’s portions between the other three.

Ignis needed to figure out what normal was. Whatever it was, it didn’t include Prompto. He wasn’t sure how to ask about it, either -- not without getting an earful from Ardyn about disrupting the world order. He had to play along. He handed the plates out and pretended not to notice Gladio side-eyeing him throughout breakfast. Everything was fine. He was _fine_.

They ate, and Ignis quickly cleaned up the kitchen area while the other two struck the tent and folded up the chairs. Then they headed back to the Regalia. Still no Prompto, nor any mention of him.

“Here’s the hunt I was telling you about, Iggy,” Gladio said, handing a flier over to him. It was a simple one -- a voretooth pack harassing a farm.

He nodded. “That looks suitable,” he said, and handed it back. Gladio headed to the passenger door and Noct slipped into the back seat. Following their lead, Ignis took the driver’s seat, as usual. He checked the map on his phone (being sure to note their current location) and started out.

As soon as the car was moving, Noctis leaned against the door and closed his eyes -- and stayed that way for the entire drive. Ignis eyed him in the rear-view mirror from time to time. About half-way through the drive, when Noctis's breathing was slow and even and his face relaxed in true sleep, Gladio sighed.

“Noct sure ain't taking this well,” he said, doing his best to keep his rumbly voice low.

“Mmmm,” Ignis said.

“I mean, he was already just kind of letting things happen to him, but now…”

“Do you think it’s because…” but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Was Prompto not in Noctis’s life at all in this world? What had his high school life been like?

Gladio snorted. “There’s any number of ‘becauses’ it could be. The wedding? Insomnia? His whole high school career? I mean, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality.”

“Part of the purpose of sending him to public school was getting him to open up and make some friends,” Ignis mused aloud.

Gladio snorted. “You know better than I do what his school life was like. I'm surprised he stuck to it.”

Ignis hummed in response, wishing that he _actually_ knew as much as Gladio intimated that he did.

“I think someone higher up hoped he'd find a loyal friend or two,” Gladio said.

“It would have been nice for him to have a closer companion on this trip,” Ignis ventured, hoping to draw more information from Gladio.

Gladio snorted. “They wouldn't have allowed just anyone to join him,” he said. “They would only accept trained Crownsguard, and no one he knew at the school was close enough to him to have done that. It’s not like he’s ever had anyone besides us.”

_No one at school was close enough._ Ignis hummed again, unhappily.

“At least hunts break up the monotony while we’re waiting,” Gladio said, and leaned back, his leather jacket creaking. “Gets his mind off of… everything… with Insomnia and all.”

They arrived at the farm near noon. Ignis nudged Noctis, who wordlessly left the car and pulled out his engine blade to give it a practice swing. “Let’s get this over with,” he said.

Ignis and Gladio looked at each other. Then Gladio took the lead, and they headed into the fields.

The pack of voreteeth was easy to find. And the battle would have been simple if it weren’t for the Imperial drop-ship that found them mid-fight. Pretty soon, they were evading both axemen _and_ voreteeth, dodging one to land in front of the other, all while dancing around the shots of the MT gunmen, too.

Ignis let himself get lost in the heat of the battle, wielding lance and knives alike as the situation warranted, reveling in using battle skills that he’d not been able to exercise for quite some time, thanks to Ardyn’s irksome meddling. He even took some perverse pleasure in working out his frustrations on the enemies around them, slowly picking them off until all the voreteeth were gone, and only a couple of the MTs remained. Noctis took out the last axeman, and Ignis vaulted into position to take out the last gunner... when it did something peculiar. It dropped its gun and twisted just before Ignis landed his hit and instead of skewering the MT, his lance glanced across its helmet, catching the faceplate and levering it off.

And there… instead of the machinery Ignis expected behind the mask, there was a face. Prompto’s face. Pale and un-freckled, but definitely Prompto’s. His eyes glowed an eerie red.

Ignis dropped his lance and staggered back like he’d been elbowed in the gut. He stared. The MT-Prompto cried out in Prompto's voice. Where the sun touched his face, his skin reddened and hissed. He put his gauntleted hands up to block the light and backed away from Ignis in fear.

Gladio came to a stumbling stop at Ignis’s shoulder. “Sweet Six in a tree,” he breathed. He put an arm out to stop Noctis from getting closer.

“What the hell is this,” Noctis said. “That’s… that's a _person_. I’ve never seen… like, usually they’re just miasma by the time we crack them open. I didn’t know there were…”

Ignis was speechless, but not for the same reason as the others. Why would Prompto be inside an MT’s armor? It made no sense whatsoever. But if he was here, then… _of course_ Noctis had never met him before, hadn't gone through school with him, had likely spent a long and lonesome childhood without him, with the absence of any other people to have fun with or confide in. No wonder Noctis was so...

Noctis pushed past Gladio’s arm (Gladio let him, though Ignis supposed he shouldn't have) and approached the MT now, one hand out. “Hey,” he said softly. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Gladio grunted unhappily. “Shouldn’t promise something you can’t guarantee,” he muttered, and Ignis hoped the MT-Prompto didn’t hear him.

Indeed, the MT, while backing away, stared alternately at Noctis’s hand and at his face. Then he tripped over a stone and fell on his backside, and scuttled backwards in a panic, finally reaching the relative safety of the shade of a tree. His skin stopped its infernal steaming burns, and his breathing evened out.

Gladio picked up the rifle the MT-Prompto had dropped, and inspected it critically. Then he aimed it at the MT, who merely swallowed. Several emotions flitted across the pale face, foremost among them resignation.

Ignis’s heart hurt.

“Gladio,” he hissed. “Put that away.”

“Just trying to make sure everything’s safe,” he said in response, but he did lower the rifle.

Noctis ignored Gladio, and simply crouched in front of the MT. He pulled a protein bar from a pocket. “You hungry?” He unwrapped the bar and offered it to the MT. The MT just stared at it, then at Noctis’s face. Noctis took a bite of the bar, and chewed it. “Mmm. Good.” he said, then reached out to offer it again.

Slowly, the MT took the bar. He brought it jerkily to his mouth, and mimicked Noctis's bite. Several emotions flashed across his face again (Prompto never could hide his emotions) but at last settled on panic -- and in a sudden rush, he leaned forward and vomited black onto the ground.  

Noctis spat out an expletive and scrambled backward. “Not into food, I guess,” he said, and looked up again. “Hey,” he said. “It’s okay.”

The MT-Prompto’s face was desperate with fear and panic. The black ichor of his vomit trailed down the front of his armor, and he looked thoroughly miserable. Ignis’s heart ached for him, against his better judgement.

His heart also ached for Noctis, who, it was clear now, longed for his friend, even if he didn’t know it. He wondered if that sort of impulse could cross worlds.

Noctis pulled a towel out of the armiger (a sight which made the MT-Prompto’s eyes go wide) and helped clean up the MT’s armor. In no time at all, Noctis had convinced the MT-Prompto to come with them. He kept his armor on, shaded his face with a gauntletted hand, and followed them to the Regalia -- which he stared at in puzzlement. Noctis urged him into the back seat, much to Gladio’s displeasure (but also insistence; “There’s no way he’s sitting by you, princess,” he said). Ignis took his customary driver's seat, Noctis the passenger seat, Gladio made the MT-Prompto sit behind Ignis, keeping him as far from Noctis as seating in the car would allow.

“Let’s get a hotel tonight, Specs,” Noctis said, in a tone that would brook no argument.

Ignis gave a small nod, and set his course for the closest outpost he knew had a hotel.

When they arrived, Ignis quickly went to book the room, leaving Gladio with Noctis and the MT-Prompto. He rejoined them quickly, and helped Noctis guide the MT-Prompto to the room with a gentle hand on his elbow. Gladio followed, but didn’t look happy. In fact, once they were in the room, and Noctis had herded the MT-Prompto into the lavatory, Gladio pulled Ignis to the side.

“I can’t believe you’re going along with this,” he said.

Ignis looked up at him in surprise. “Gladio, he’s a person.”

“It’s an MT, if you hadn’t noticed. Who’s to say it won’t go on a murdering rampage on us in the night?”

“Uh, guys?” Noctis called, a hint of something in his voice that set Ignis’s nerves on edge.

Ignis and Gladio both crowded into the door of the lavatory. Prompto (it was Prompto; it couldn’t be anyone else!) sat on the closed toilet, hands clasped around the edge of the seat. Noct had helped him remove his helmet. Sweat plastered his wisps of poorly-shorn hair to his scalp. Pieces of his armor were stacked in the bath -- gauntlets, pauldrons, greaves. Underneath the armor, Prompto wore a black bodysuit that covered most of him but left his chest exposed. Flaps in several places pulled back to reveal traces of mechanical augmentation.

Noctis was trying to pull off Prompto’s chestplate. He held it as far from Prompto as he could get it, but it was attached to Prompto’s chest by several wires that were plugged into his sternum, and by a tube that disappeared into a port embedded into his skin just under his ribcage. Prompto winced when Noctis tried to tug the chestplate gently free; the wires pulled at his skin, and the tube was clearly connected deeper than they could see.

Ignis felt sick. “Who would… who would do this?” he asked in a whisper.

“The Empire, apparently,” Gladio growled.

“How do we get it off??” Noctis said.

Then Prompto placed his hands over Noct’s, where they held the chestplate, and he gently pried it away from him. “I can…” he started, and then, with swift, practiced flips and tugs, he disconnected the wires and pulled the tube from the port. He winced as he did it, as though it hurt.

Noctis rocked back on his heels. “You can talk!”

“Yes,” Prompto said, his voice devoid of inflection. “When required, I can make verbal response.”

Noctis leaned forward again. “Do you have a name?”

“My designation is 05953234,” Prompto replied in the same monotone. “Series NiP01357.”

Noctis shook his head. “That’s not a name,” he said. “What were you called before they did… this--” and he waved his hand at all the plugs and ports “-- to you?”

Prompto looked at Noctis, his eyes glowing disconcertingly and his face carefully blank -- almost resigned. “I have always been 05953234.”

Noctis squinted at him. “How old are you?”

Prompto looked puzzled. “Series NiP01357’s production date is month ten, year 735.

It was Noct’s turn to be puzzled. “But… how long have you been an MT?”

“Series NiP01357’s production date is month ten, year 735,” Prompto repeated.

“You mean you…” Noctis hesitated.

“Series NiP01357 was created for the Magitek production line and has been in development for full service for twenty years, eight months.”

Even Gladio looked stunned. “Six,” he murmured.

“Do you mean to tell me--” Noctis started, but Ignis could bear no more. He fled the hotel room and leaned against the closed door with a hand over his mouth. What kind of horrible reality WAS this, that the Empire would use human experimentation to--

“Having fun, are we?”

Ignis whipped to face Ardyn. “What kind of reality  _is_ this?” he said. “Human experimentation? This is probably the most inhumane--”

“Ah,” Ardyn interrupted. “You should think a little before you say anything, and consider which elements are actually unique to this reality and which are not. I think the answer might surprise you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ignis said. But then he hesitated. He remembered seeing reports -- most of them partially sealed above his pay grade -- that mentioned human experimentation and the like, from reports of Niflheim. How that applied, and what that had to do with Prompto…

“Explain,” he snapped.

Ardyn just raised his hands. “It’s not my place to say,” he said. “You might think to ask your companions when you return.” And then he grinned. “If I let you. This is proving to be far more entertaining than I thought.” And he snapped his fingers before Ignis could protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/avianscribe) @avianscribe


	8. The Second Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prelude to an international incident...

Ignis blinked… and faltered, mid stride, walking down the middle of a hallway. He caught himself before he stumbled, and glanced around. Gladio strode beside him to his left, dressed in his formal Crownsguard regalia (from the feel of his own clothing, so was Ignis), and Noctis, in his own princely raiment, walked ahead of both of them, his gait stiff with anger. Gladio was speaking.

“... but it’s not as though you can do anything about it now.” he said. 

“I just wish--” 

“Don’t we all,” Ignis felt himself saying. “But none of our lives are our own. You knew this would be a possibility.”

“I never thought my dad--”

“His hands’re tied,” Gladio growled, his face dark. “I bet there’s nothing he wants more than to let you live your life the way you want, but if he can stop this war--” 

“I  _ know _ ,” Noctis snapped. “Just--  _ not this way _ .”

“Do we even know who the bride will be?” Gladio asked.

“No clue,” Noctis said. “No one’s saying anything about it, except that it’s happening.”

Realization dawned in Ignis; this was about the treaty… about the wedding. 

Ignis followed at Noctis’s shoulder, and as they approached the Citadel entrance, the hallways grew more and more crowded -- formal honor guards, citadel staff, dignitaries. Then they were exiting the gates. At the top of the stairs, ahead of them and to the right stood King Regis, flanked by Clarus Amicitia. And facing  _ them  _ stood a contingent of Imperial emissaries. Wait, no… was that  _ Emperor Iedolas?! _

But… in his own world, King Regis had sent them away before the Niflheim delegation arrived. Before the treaty signing. So why…?

Then his eye was caught by the gaudy figure standing next to the emperor -- none other than Niflheim Chancellor Ardyn Izunia. Ignis stifled the sudden rage he felt and let his eyes drift away to the string string of Imperial dignitaries behind him. And behind  _ them, _ hair slicked back, wearing Imperial white with red and gold accents… 

Prompto. 

Ignis gaped. For a moment he couldn’t help it. He caught himself and schooled his expression back to diplomatic neutral, and hoped no one had noticed his lapse.

Noctis came to a halt at his father’s shoulder. Ignis and Gladio took their places a little behind, beside Clarus. Ignis purposefully refused to look at Ardyn. Seeing him here was a shock. Ignis couldn't be sure if this Ardyn was  _ his _ Ardyn -- the one sending him on this tortuous journey through worlds -- or if it was simply  _ this _ world’s Chancellor Izunia of Niflheim.

King Regis stepped forward and stretched an arm wide. “We are delighted to welcome you, Emperor Iedolas, and representatives from Niflheim. We extend to you the hand of friendship on this auspicious occasion, and welcome you to Insomnia, seat of Lucis.” 

“You are most gracious, King Regis,” Emperor Iedolas said, with a slight incline of his head. He held a hand out to Ardyn, who doffed his infernal fedora and bowed. “This is Chancellor Izunia, who is known to you, I trust,” the Emperor continued lazily. “And we are delighted to present to you Our ward and heir, Prince Prompto Besithia of Nifflheim.”

Ignis tensed, and felt Gladio do the same. Noctis inhaled sharply with a hiss. There was a murmur in the crowd, a susurration around them. 

“I didn’t know he’d named an heir,” Gladio rumbled. 

“Quiet,” Ignis hissed, just as Regis started talking again.

“Welcome, Chancellor, and Prince Prompto. It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Prompto stiffened and color spotted his high cheekbones. His mouth thinned and he said nothing, but made a quick, precise bow.

“We have arranged quarters for you as our honored guests,” King Regis announced. “Our stewards will guide you. We will hold a state dinner in honor of your visit at 1900 hours, and until that time, invite you to avail yourselves of the amenities within the wing appointed to you. If you have any needs, you are welcome to notify the staff, and we will do all in our power to accommodate you.”

The Emperor gave a curt nod, and Regis gestured for the Niflheim delegation to precede him into the citadel. Gladio and Ignis stood at attention as they walked by, Noctis frozen in front of them. 

Ignis kept an eye on Prompto as he passed. His expression remained severe, even when he glanced towards them, looking in particular at Noctis. Something flitted across his face, the barest flicker Ignis would have missed, had he blinked -- but he couldn’t interpret it. His own Prompto’s face broadcast every tiny wisp of feeling.  _ This _ Prompto broadcast nothing. It was unsettling.

Then Chancellor Izunia met his eye. Ignis schooled his face to keep a measured expression -- but he must have let something slip, because the Chancellor smirked at him and gave voice to a deep chuckle. He wondered again if  _ this  _ Ardyn was also his own. 

The occasion did not allow them to address each other, and so Ignis let his eyes slide away. The possibility that Ardyn might be  _ here _ , would  _ mock  _ his confusion, infuriated him. He had enough trouble trying to blend in, to figure out what was different and dance around it without exposing himself. Ardyn being  _ here _ would present an extra complexity; a problem. Where before Ardyn only showed up to snatch him between worlds,  _ now  _ Ignis would be left guessing, on tenterhooks whenever Ardyn was present, wondering when the time would come. 

At last the end of the Niflheim delegation passed, and King Regis headed in with Clarus at his shoulder. Noctis followed, and Gladio and Ignis fell in behind him. The staff just inside the Citadel doors directed the Niflheimrs to the wing that had been sequestered for their use, and Noct and his retainers were released to their own quarters at last, to prepare for the state dinner. 

Noct traded his formal robes for a smart pin-striped suit, and Ignis and Gladio did the same. They had a minute to take a breath, in which Noctis stood at his bedroom window, fists clenched, quietly seething. Then Ignis’s phone chimed, and in ingrained habit, he glanced at the notice. “It’s time,” he said. 

Noctis sighed. “Right,” he said, and turned. His face was awash with frustrated resignation. Ignis preceded him to the chamber door and opened it for him, then followed him out, glad that Citadel protocol dictated that he follow Noctis rather than lead. He did not know in which of the three formal banquet rooms this dinner would be held, though he guessed it would be the largest.

He was right. They arrived at doors flanked by Crownsguard, who opened them to a room decked out in royal finery. The tables were laden with the best porcelain settings in white with gold trim, the finest black silk napkins with gold embroidery meanders around the edges, the most lavish black tablecloths embroidered with the royal crest at five-foot intervals down the center. Noctis strode to the seat to the right of the King, across the table from the Emperor. Next to Noctis, Clarus took his seat, and Gladio next. Ignis’s place was further down the table -- to his surprise, directly across from Prompto. As a prince and visiting dignitary, Ignis would have thought Prompto would have been seated closer to the Emperor. 

But no, the  _ esteemed Chancellor of Niflheim _ had that honor, and a number of other important-looking Niflheim officials. Prompto was relegated to a lower place, and Ignis wondered why.

He watched Prompto carefully as the first course was served. Prompto just looked at his plate. He didn’t talk, didn’t even look at the other diners; only ate mechanically. Ignis found no opportunity to engage him, or even to catch his eye. The Niflheim diplomat to Ignis’s left had turned a shoulder to him, talking instead to the Insomnian councilwoman on his other side. Ignis glanced to the head of the table. The Emperor spoke with King Regis, a disingenuous smile on his face. Noctis had a tight smile on his own.

The food was what Ignis expected at state dinners: several courses in small sizes, some rich and some light, all savory. Ignis discovered, through the course of the meal, that Prompto wasn’t quite expressionless. The Imperial prince ate his first two courses clean, but as the courses kept coming, he began to pick mournfully at them, without eating. 

Something about his behavior seemed off. The longer the dinner progressed, the more Prompto’s eyes and mouth tightened with what looked like nervousness and… resignation?... and he grew more twitchy with each course. 

Finally, the dessert course was cleared away, and the brandy served... and then the Emperor stood. “I propose a toast,” he said. “To the upcoming peace.”

“To peace,” Regis echoed, raising his own glass, and everyone murmured in response and sipped. 

Then Chancellor Izunia stood and raised his own glass. “And to the impending nuptials,” he said, drawing his words out slowly. 

Nuptials? Ignis looked around. There… was no one here from Tenebrae. Then he noticed the color high on Prompto’s cheeks. 

“Ah yes,” Emperor Iedolas drawled. “To the union of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum and our own Prince Prompto Besithia.” 

Ignis choked into his brandy. 

Several heads turned to him, eyes both curious and disdainful. He, on the other hand, quickly composed himself, wiped his mouth with his silk napkin, and glanced quickly at Noctis just in time to watch the prince school his shocked expression into a tight diplomatic smile. Gladio had stiffened, and though he seemed to be trying to manage his expression, his face was dark with displeasure. King Regis hardly reacted at all -- and whether or not he knew about this before, Ignis couldn’t tell.

Ignis tried to hide behind his glass and took another sip that went down properly this time. He peered over the rim of the glass at Prompto, who stared resolutely at his own plate, his face a blank mask. 

“It seems the Prince’s advisor has something to say?” Chancellor Izunia asked, and smiled. 

Ardyn’s smiles always had double meanings. Ignis cleared his throat. “Not at all,” he said smoothly. “To the wedding.” 

Everyone raised their glasses in another toast. Ignis drained his own and set it down on the table with a little click. Without looking at the diners around him, he turned from the table with a hasty “pardon me” and put his napkin to his mouth in some semblance of an excuse to leave the table, hoping the diplomatic repercussions would not be irredeemable. The atmosphere inside the room was toxic. Ignis hated the thought of leaving Noctis there, but he had to trust Gladio’s protection; he could not stay there any longer.

As soon as he was out of sight, Ignis banished the napkin into the armiger and strode quickly through the hallway, mulling over what had just happened. Why…  _ why _ would Prompto be a Prince of Niflheim? What circumstances would even  _ allow _ that? What was  _ wrong _ with this  _ Prince  _ Prompto? Because something clearly was. And what could possibly possess the Emperor of Niflheim to make peace contingent on a marriage that could bear no heirs? What was the diplomatic value of it -- what would the Empire gain?

And what of Tenebrae -- what of Noct’s close connection to Lady Lunafreya? That would have been a fine marriage. Ignis winced, remembering that in his own world, Lady Lunafreya had just met an unfortunate and untimely end. Fresh sorrow welled up, and he contemplated how his own Noctis would take the news --  _ if he would be alive to take it. _ He gritted his teeth and stalked down the hall. 

Before he had gone ten paces, he rounded a corner and almost ran into Ardyn, who stood leaning against the wall. Ignis stumbled backward to avoid him and bit back a curse. 

Ardyn chuckled at him.

“Am I to assume," Ignis said with some heat,  "that the Chancellor Izunia in attendance at the dinner is  _ not _ you?” 

“You may assume whatever you like,  _ dear  _ advisor,” Ardyn said with a flourish of his hand. “I hope you enjoyed the dinner.”

“It was certainly… enlightening.” 

“And?” 

“I have more questions than answers, honestly, and I doubt you will satisfy me.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Ardyn said. “But you are welcome to ask, anyway.” 

“How in Ifrit’s flaming hell is Prompto a Prince of Niflheim?”

“Now now now, that just won’t do.” Ardyn said with a slight _tut tut._ “Such temper. Alas, there are many secrets that are not mine to tell.” 

Ignis hoped in vain that his eyes would burn a hole through the Chancellor’s head.

“I think it’s more than time for a change of scenery, don’t you?” Ardyn said, waving a hand.

“As if I could stop you,” Ignis muttered.

“Oh, you may stop at any time. Just give me the word, and I’ll leave you in whatever world you choose.” 

“I would  _ never _ abandon Noctis.” 

“As you say.” And Ardyn snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prince Prompto AUs are fun to consider, and there's definitely intrigue going on in the background here that I can't delve into due to the nature of this fic... Given time, Ignis would suss it all out. But he just can't stay long enough, alas!


	9. Cut to the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis discovers that being a soulmate is a literal pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early, so I don't have to worry about it while travelling...
> 
> Once again, I'm playing this from a canon!Ignis POV; no offense to any ships!

Ignis blinked and found himself in the chaos of a battle in progress. Beside him, Prompto was revving up his circular saw; Noctis zipped overhead in a warp strike, and through the kicked-up dust Gladio's voice rumbled in that gutteral noise he made when swinging his sword. Ignis’s daggers were in his hands, poised and ready.

Around them, a swarm of reapertails skittered, darting in to strike with their cruelly-barbed tails. A common prey on the Liede desert; easy targets.

“Right,” Ignis said, and tightened his hands on the hilts of his daggers. He launched his knives and summoned them back in a series of precise throws, quickly eliminating the four beasts near at hand. He whirled around to see how his companions fared.

The wind picked up, lifting billows of desert sand with it. Ignis squinted against the flying dust. He could barely see five feet in any direction; the only hint of his companions’ condition was the noise of their battles -- Noctis’s shouts, Prompto's anxious yelps, Gladio's grunts, and the sounds of their weapons.

Prompto seemed nearest to Ignis, somewhere behind him. Ignis turned, squinting, and through the cloud of dust he could barely make out Prompto's shadow swinging his circular saw wide. His swing took out two shadowy beasts, and Prompto whooped a triumphant “Yeah, baby!”  

Satisfied, Ignis turned away, only to turn back when a growing noise raised an alarm in his mind. “Beware incoming!” he yelled, but he couldn't see what it was; dust obscured everything.

He had a brief impression of a fast approaching shadow that started to take the shape of a dualhorn approaching at a gallop -- but Prompto wasn't looking, too occupied with his machine, even though the creature was swiftly bearing down on him. Ignis tensed and opened his mouth to warm him, but it was too late -- and then Prompto screamed.

Ignis didn't have time to react, because in that same instant blinding pain ripped through his knee and upper leg and he collapsed with a strangled yelp of pain.

For an instant it was so excruciating he couldn't think. He felt his back arch against the stony ground. His breath hissed ragged through his teeth. He thought he heard Noct’s voice with a panicky “Which of them is it??” And Gladio's furious roar, and the slick thud of his greatsword connecting with something large and fleshy -- then the dualhorn's bellow, cut short when Gladio made another grunting swing. Prompto was still screaming.

Ignis grasped at his own leg, frantically looking for the wound, but he could see nothing -- and the bone under his shaking fingers felt sound. So why… _why did his leg hurt like it was shattered?_

“It's Prompto!” Gladio said. “Quick, this looks bad!”

Noctis swore, and Ignis heard him warp again -- and then there was the tinkling pop of a breaking curative, and…

Ignis felt a rush of relief, a shock almost as violent as the pain. He sagged against the ground. Prompto was no longer screaming, but Ignis couldn't see what was going on, couldn't understand why his pain had stopped when they hadn't used the curative on _him._ Couldn't understand where the pain had come from in the first place.

Ignis focused on his breathing for a moment, then tried to get up -- but his strength was gone. He couldn't will his muscles to move. He lay there, listening to Gladio's bass rumble, Noctis's answering baritone, and finally - at last - Prompto's weak tenor, short and pained, even obscured by the wind.

Then he heard Noctis say, “Find Specs,” and Ignis heard the creak of a leather jacket and the heavy tread of boots -- a tread that stopped near Ignis’s head. He found the strength to open his eyes. Gladio loomed over him. “Hey,” he said. His face looked serious - concerned - and soft at the same time. He leaned forward and stretched out a hand. “Think you can stand?”

Ignis tried to lift his arm, but could only get it to twitch. He inhaled slowly. “I would, if I could move.”

Gladio half-smiled. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you.” Then before Ignis could protest, he had an arm under Ignis’s shoulders and knees and lifted him effortlessly. “Noct, you got Blondie?” Gladio’s chest rumbled against Ignis’s side.

Noctis gave a strained “Yeah” with an accompanying whimper from Prompto.

“Let’s get to the car, quick,” Gladio said, and then they were moving.

Ignis finally had a moment to catch his breath and contemplate what was going on here. He struggled to stay awake, fighting waves of fatigue and weakness and the lulling sway of Gladio’s stride. He had some inexplicable connection to Prompto -- one that, unfortunately, incapacitated him when Prompto was injured. The implications of that took a moment to sink in.

Then Gladio was speaking again, muttering to himself. “Who ever thought it was a good idea to put two soulmates on a team _together_ for a dangerous road trip? I’d like to strangle that guy…”

“Shut _up,_ Gladio,” Noctis said bitterly. “It was _supposed_ to be a _wedding party.”_

… Soulmates. Again.

Ignis thought bitterly of the soulmate tattoo in the previous soulmate world Ardyn had sent him to, and wondered if _this_ world was an extension of the same. He slowly, carefully, lifted his left hand, trying to peek under the glove to see if he had that tattoo this time. He couldn’t see anything. But… last time he was connected to _Gladio._ This world… this was different.

“You okay there, Iggy?” Gladio said.

“... I’ll be fine,” he managed weakly, even though he felt so far from _fine._

“Like hell,” Gladio muttered. Then he stopped walking. “Hey, Iggy, you got the keys?”

Ignis patted weakly at his pocket and managed to get the Regalia key fob in his hand. Gladio lowered Ignis’s feet to the ground, keeping an arm around his back to support him, and took the key. Soon, Gladio was helping him sit in the back of the Regalia. Ignis could only sag into the seat, resting his head against the headrest, struggling against a wave of overwhelming weariness.

Then Noct pulled open the door on the other side, and settled Prompto next to him. Prompto’s face was awash with fatigue and embarrassment and relief. He leaned his head into Ignis’s shoulder.

Ignis stiffened in spite of himself -- and Prompto pulled away. He peered searchingly at Ignis for a moment. Ignis looked back at him with weary confusion. Then something frangible in Prompto’s expression shattered. His eyes welled with tears. He turned his back and leaned against the door instead.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I… Sorry.”

Ignis felt he was missing something important. “There’s nothing to apologize _for_ ,” he said at last, watching Noctis climb into the driver’s seat and start up the Regalia.

“M’ sorry you have such a dumbass soulmate,” Prompto said in a low, bitter tone.

“...What?” Ignis said. He wasn’t supposed to be making waves in the worlds he visited, but clearly there was more going on than he could see on the surface, and he mentally cursed Ardyn that he would dump Ignis into situations where he just didn’t _know --_

“Guys, I’m calling it,” Noct said, cutting through Ignis’s thoughts. “We’re staying at Longwythe tonight. Two rooms.” And he met Ignis’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Piercing and pointed.

Ignis got the message. “Ah… yes,” he said.

And his chest filled with dread.

 

* * *

 

The motel at Longwythe, usually so homey and welcoming, loomed like a spectre above them as Noctis pulled the Regalia into the lot.

Some of Ignis’s strength had returned on the drive, and he pushed his own door open and stepped out gingerly, trying to hide the slight sway when he put his full weight on his legs. Behind him, Noctis helped Prompto out of the car, and let his friend lean on him, while Gladio strode directly to the motel office to book them rooms.

_Rooms._

Ignis swallowed.

He had to fix this, but he didn’t know what to fix -- what was even broken.

Gladio handed Noct a key card envelope, and kept the other one. Then he looked over at Ignis. “You okay?”

Ignis pushed away from the car and took some halting steps. “I think so,” he said.

With an arm supporting Prompto, Noct guided them to a room and keyed open the door. He and Prompto disappeared inside. Ignis followed them into the room with careful steps, Gladio shadowing closely.

The room had only one bed, naturally.

Not that Ignis hadn’t shared before, but he had a feeling that expectations would be different this time.

Noctis had already left Prompto sitting on the side of the bed, and pushed past Ignis, pressing the key cards into his hand on his way out the door. “I’ll grab your things; you guys just rest up,” he said.

Ignis took in Prompto’s torn and blood-stained trousers, and the dirt coating Prompto’s bare arms. “Would you like to shower, Prompto?” he asked gently. “You can go first.”

When he said “first” Prompto glanced up at him with weary sadness and then looked away. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll… go first.” He stood, but teetered to one side once he was on his feet.

Ignis started towards him, but Gladio put a hand on his shoulder. “You sit,” he said. “Can’t have two gimps helping each other; you’ll _both_ end up on the floor.” He put an arm around Prompto’s back and helped him to the bathroom. Ignis slowly sank into a chair.

Noctis entered, carrying Ignis and Prompto’s bags. He dropped Ignis’s on the bed and took Prompto’s to the bathroom door and handed it over to Gladio. There were some murmured inquiries, and Prompto’s repeated assurances that he’d be fine -- he’d just bathe and be right as rain again, no harm. Then Gladio and Noctis filed back through the room, both of them looking at Ignis like they weren’t sure what they were looking at.

Noctis paused at the door, letting Gladio edge past him and outside. “Specs, I… dunno what’s wrong, but… don’t be mad at him, ‘kay?”

“I’m not,” Ignis said wearily.

Noct eyed him. “... ‘Kay. Just… you’re not as… touchy-feely as usual.”

 _Touchy-feely?_ When was Ignis _ever_ that way?

“I assure you,” he said, “I’m just exhausted. And… it was a bit of a shock.”

“Yeah,” Noct said. “I’ve heard soul pain can be something. And he…” Noctis winced. “He was in really rough shape.”

Ignis hummed.

“Look, if you guys…” Noct hesitated. “If you need a day to rest up and get your strength back, I… I mean, Gladio and I can, you know, take a hunt around here or something in the morning.”

Ignis smiled at the thought of Noct being both responsible, arranging hunts for pay, and discreet in trying to give Ignis time alone with Prompto. Because apparently he should _want_ time alone with Prompto. “Of course,” he managed to answer. “We’ll… see how things are in the morning, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Noct said. “Get some rest.” Then he stepped out the door and left Ignis alone with his thoughts.

And with Prompto in the next room. He heard the shower start.

“Ardyn, where are you…” Ignis murmured, but Ardyn did not show himself.

Ignis sat mulling over how he could handle this. From how everyone was acting, Prompto clearly expected a degree of intimacy that Ignis was not prepared to give. And _not_ giving it was clearly the worst sort of betrayal to Prompto. Ignis wasn’t sure why he wasn’t having the same moments of muscle memory that he had experienced making fancy coffee, the same experience of saying things he didn’t expect or mean to… perhaps because the feelings he would be expressing were so far removed from what he actually felt.

Soon Ignis heard the shower turn off. Prompto would come out, and Ignis was no closer to resolving how to handle this delicate situation.

He peeled off his dirty gloves and jacket and dismissed them into the armiger -- they’d need laundering -- and then stood, ignoring as best he could a fresh bout of dizziness, and rummaged in his bag for his toiletries and pyjamas. He had them in hand just as Prompto emerged in his boxers, scrubbing at his head with his towel.

Ignis set his things to the side of his bag, and turned to Prompto. He cleared his throat.

Prompto looked at him and -- Astrals, he’d been crying. His eyes were red and puffy, and Ignis couldn’t help but wince.

“Prompto,” he said softly. “I’m--”

Before he could get the apology out, Prompto threw himself at him, wrapped arms around his torso, and sobbed into his shirt. “Iggy…!” he cried, his voice muffled. “I’m so sorry, so so sorry...”

Ignis started to tense again, wanted to push Prompto away -- but  _then_ Ardyn finally deigned to intervene, his voice echoing dangerously in Ignis's head: _'Mind yourself. You aren't to disrupt the world order.'_

Ignis bit the inside of his cheek, and finally willed himself to settle his arms around Prompto’s shoulders and relax. “There’s -- there’s nothing to apologize for, it was an accident,” Ignis said, his voice still stiff and unnatural. “I… I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry for being cold. I...”

Prompto pulled back and turned his tear-streaked face up. “Please don't hate me,” he said in a broken voice.

“ _Hate_ you? Why would I--”

“For being stupid,” Prompto interjected. “For being the weak link. For getting hurt and hurting you. I should have stayed behind in Insomnia, and then--”

“Stayed behind?” Ignis interjected. “Prompto -- you don't know what you're saying!” Ignis knew; He knew that Insomnia was practically destroyed, that there were hundreds if not _thousands_ of civilian casualties, let alone the Crownsguard -- of which Prompto was clearly still a member in this reality.

“Yes, I do,” Prompto said bitterly. “Because then I wouldn't be hurting you _with_ me and knocking two of the team out of commission. And then maybe when you called me up to check in every night you'd still be calling me ‘Dearest’ instead of just my name.” Towards the end, Prompto was so choked up that he could barely speak, his expression twisted with hurt. Tears made tracks down his face.

Ignis’s chin dropped. Then his shoulders. He didn't know what to say. He had never in his life called _anyone_ by a pet name, but if he had, he supposed ‘dearest’ would have been his pet name of choice.

And _this_ Prompto _knew_ it -- because in this world he _was_ Ignis's ‘dearest’.

The only one who could fix this properly was _this_ world’s Ignis. Prompto deserved that. In the meantime, Ignis could at least act the way he would expect himself to act towards someone he held as dear as this world’s Ignis clearly held his Prompto.

Ignis swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth. Then he raised a hand to Prompto’s cheek and thumbed a still-dripping lock of hair away from Prompto’s eyes. “You are no weak link,” he said -- something he knew he could say with sincerity. “And I… don’t hate you. Not at all. Far from it.” Inwardly he cringed. _Couldn’t he do better than that?_ He could see the skepticism in Prompto’s face and feared that Prompto wasn’t buying it. He let his hand trace Prompto’s cheek. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” That was true too. “Let me… let me clean up, and then… I can apologize properly.”

There. _That_ was the hint of smile Ignis was looking for, a slight lifting of one side of Prompto’s mouth -- and a bit of color bloomed in Prompto’s cheeks, highlighting his freckles. This world’s Ignis probably found that particularly attractive, Ignis thought sadly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Prompto said in a voice husky with tears, eyes flicking from Ignis’s eyes to his lips and back. But he didn’t move in for a kiss, thankfully; just turned away.

Ignis suppressed a relieved sigh and grabbed his things. “I’ll be right out,” he said, and hurried to the bathroom.

Once inside, Ignis quietly panicked.

He drew out his shower preparations as long as possible. He had made a promise he couldn’t follow through on -- not truly. If their relationship was as long-standing as Ignis suspected, he was sure his ruse wouldn’t last much longer. Prompto was already seeing through it -- and it was the little things that were giving Ignis away. Relationships were built on small displays of affection that became traditions -- and Ignis knew _none_ of them. And every time he missed a message, or reacted poorly to the intrusions on his personal space… All of those little actions betrayed him.

And it was damaging things. If it went on too much longer, Ignis would unintentionally build a rift. Even Noctis and Gladio could see it.

“Deep in thought, are we?”

Ignis jumped. Ardyn leaned against the bathroom door, and gave him a raking look from his face to his feet and back up. Ignis realized he was clad only in purple briefs. His face burned.

“I beg your pardon,” he hissed, and grabbed a towel to hastily wrap around his waist.

“Not at all,” Ardyn said. “I’m not the least bit offended. I should really chide you for disrupting this world’s order, but… this is far too entertaining.”

“This is utterly monstrous, and you must stop this at _once!_ ”

“Oh? And why should I do that?”

“I'm hurting Prompto and it's _your fault!”_

 _“My fault?”_ Ardyn said, looking affronted and putting a hand to his chest. “ _I'm_ doing _nothing_ to him.”

“It’s _your_ fault I’m here instead of his _real_ companion,” Ignis said. “He doesn’t deserve what I’m doing to him, and--”

Ardyn made an insolent smirk. “Then you are not thinking that you might want to stay?”

“Are you _mad?”_ Ignis said.

“To judge from your willingness to use the Lucii’s Ring, I'd say you are quite mad yourself.”

“Nevermind that,” Ignis said, waving a hand. “Why would you think I should have any desire to stay in a world where I would feel a soulmate's injuries as if they were my own?”

“Perhaps to give you something else to compare things to,” he said. “We could always go back, if you decide one of the previous options appeals to you.”

Ignis bit back an exceptionally rude retort and opted instead to say “Take me back to Noctis _this instant_.”

“Ah… but that doesn’t suit me just yet,” Ardyn answered, and snapped his fingers. 


	10. Taking In the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis lands in a world where the King's magic has unusual properties -- and the moon is not his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we might be taking another turn through Angst Town here... Fair warning.

Ignis blinked -- and he was standing at the stove in Noct’s high school apartment, hand on the handle of a wok. The stir fry in it looked just about done, if a little meat-heavy. A covered pot on the back unit was probably rice.

Ignis sighed. This world-jumping was getting more than tiresome. The body he landed in each time he jumped to a new world might not be weary, but he… _he_ was tired. Emotionally drained. When was the last time he’d truly slept? Before Altissia, he suspected; he certainly hadn’t the night before the summit with Secretary Claustra.

But more than feeling tired, he felt… anxious. He glanced out the window at the evening light. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it would soon.

He could…

He could feel it. Something looming. Something that came with the night.

The front door slammed, startling him out of his thoughts. Noctis stomped into the room.

“Prompto wasn’t there _again.”_ Noct said. “That’s the _fourth day_ this week.” He tossed his school satchel on the low table and practically threw himself at the couch. He grabbed one of the throw pillows and hugged it. “And when I texted him he just said he’s sick and told me not to come over.”

Ignis hummed. At this point, he knew better than to respond without more information.

Noct buried his face in the pillow and growled, then flopped onto his back. “I can’t wait until I can invite him to join the pack. Keeping all this secret from him is getting harder.” Then he sighed. “Full moon tonight,” he said. “Dad says we should hunt the downtown park instead of the private gardens; says there’s a coven there that’s stirring up trouble.”

_Pack? Coven?_ And what was that about _hunting?_ Ignis didn’t say anything; he didn’t know what to say. He stirred the wok instead -- and was grateful when Noctis sighed and stood. “I’ll text Gladio and see when he’ll be by,” he said. “When’s dinner?”

“Almost done,” Ignis said, and gave the wok a last cursory stir before opening the rice pan and fluffing it up with a fork. He portioned the stir fry into two bowls and handed one to Noctis, who took it to the table. Ignis joined him and handed him a pair of chopsticks, and they both tucked in.

Noctis’s phone chimed while they were eating. “That’s Gladio,” Noct said through a mouthful. “Says he’s picked up the trail of something. Wants us to meet him before moonrise.”

“Then we don't have much time,” Ignis said. It was nearly twilight already, and… he could feel _something_ itching underneath his skin.

Noctis shovelled down his last bites, tipping his bowl to scrape it into his mouth. Ignis hurriedly snatched the last pieces of meat from his own and then grabbed the dishes and took them to the sink; he felt too hurried to do more than that. Whatever was coming was more urgent. Dishes could wait.

“He’s in Capital Park,” Noctis said as they jogged out the front door of the building. They didn’t bother retrieving the car; something in Ignis felt that their own feet would be more efficient. And Capital Park was quite close, all things told.

“We’d better hurry,” Ignis urged. He didn’t know why, but he felt that time was short.

Noctis led them through an alley, and Ignis let him, in spite of the danger. He tried not to notice the strength of the smells around him. Even ordinary smells, like grass and trees, the urine from the alleyway, the refuse from the garbage bins they passed, were stronger -- almost gag-inducing.

They emerged from the alleyway across the street from Capital Park. Ignis took a deep inhale, grateful for the fresh smell of trees and grass... and Noctis immediately jaywalked across before Ignis could stop him. But instead of chiding Noctis, he did the same, skirting quickly between parked cars and following Noctis into the park. Noctis glanced around, then headed deeper. Ignis ordinarily would have warned him against lingering in the darker areas of a public park at twilight, but something held his tongue and he simply followed.

Ignis felt intense relief to be in the shadows. The itching beneath his skin was only intensifying, and he felt the need to move deeper, into the protection of the thicker growth, even as he wondered why in the world they would be doing something so unsafe in a public park at night. The tie at his throat was bothering him. He loosened it, and then unfastened the top button for good measure and rubbed the back of his neck, where his skin particularly chafed.

And still he followed Noctis deeper.

At last they reached the grove of ancient oaks in the center of the park, surrounded by scrub and junipers and filled with the rich scent of soil and growing things. As soon as they were out of view, Noctis peeled out of his jacket and started pulling off his shirt. “C’mon,” he said. “Gladio’ll be here soon.”

Ignis stared… until Noctis started unfastening his trousers, and then he almost yelped and turned away.

“Ignis…?” Noctis said. But Ignis didn’t turn around. “Ignis, the moon’s almost out. You gonna -- You’re not gonna be shy about this after what happened _last_ month, are you?”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ignis said shakily.

“Ignis, you’d better--”

And then it hit.

Somehow, Ignis knew it was the moon, even though he couldn’t see it; he felt it like a switch, as soon as it rose. He cried out involuntarily -- and he thought Noctis did, too. And immediately he wished he’d _known_ … because his muscles gave a painful flex, and he had the realization that if he didn’t strip as fast as possible, he’d never wear this outfit again.

And still he hesitated, the idea of stripping in a public park burning mortifyingly in his mind -- but the urgency in his skin overwhelmed his modesty.

And then he was too late.

His hands shook too much to cooperate. Even as he fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, the tendons in his hands cramped, and he cried out. Then he spasmed -- and everything was pain. Cartilage stretched, bones lengthened and shifted, and through the pain, Ignis cursed Ardyn and his malicious whims, and whatever evil mind created this painful and embarrassing reality.

When the pain lifted, he lay prone and panting, and for a moment he could do nothing else. The relief from the _lack_ of pain was as overwhelming as the pain itself. He pushed himself up on shaky hands -- wait, not hands; he looked down at two massive paws. His shirt was a disaster. His cuffs were still buttoned around his wrists, but the fabric of his sleeves hung in loose shreds. He gasped -- but what came out sounded more like a yelp. He backed away -- more like scrambled, on haunches still bound uncomfortably in his clothes -- and there was something else uncomfortable back there, an unexpected and unknown sensation that he slowly recognized was a tail, cramped and crowded in the seat of his trousers.

It took him a moment to realize that he was whining with each panting breath. It took another moment to calm himself enough to stop.

Where Noctis had been, a lithe black wolf crouched, just getting to its feet. It shuddered, then shook itself. It nosed at the pile of Noctis’s clothes, and they dissolved in a shower of blue sparks -- into the armiger, Ignis thought in boggled surprise. Then the wolf turned its blue eyes on Ignis and… and _laughed._ “Ignis, you should see yourself,” Noctis said -- only the voice rang in Ignis’s head rather than in his ears.

Ignis tried to stand, but his hind legs tangled infuriatingly in his trousers and he only managed a hopping step before collapsing to one side. Noctis laughed even more.

Then a huge brown wolf broke through the underbrush and stared at him. The beast had a scar trailing over one eye -- and Ignis was certain this was Gladio. The brown wolf’s mouth opened and its tongue lolled out. “What happened here?” Gladio’s voice felt amused in Ignis’s mind.

“Stop laughing, you two idiots, and help me,” Ignis snarled. At least, he thought he did. What came out of his mouth was a snarl, but his own voice echoed in his head -- and he hoped in the minds of his companions.

Gladio and Noctis laughed more, but they _did_ help -- with teeth and claws, tearing his poor button-up from his torso and shredding his trousers as they pulled at the belt, trying to get it off his haunches. When he was at last free, he poked the leftover rags of his clothing with his nose and willed them into the armiger -- and was quietly  astonished when they vanished. Then he sat a moment, trying to reclaim what dignity he had left.

“Thought you were used to the King’s magic by now,” Gladio said.

Ignis gave him a look that he hoped was scathing and said nothing. His mind raced, wondering what lycanthropy had to do with the King’s magic.

“C’mon,” Noctis said. “We have a job to do. Did you find anything?” He was peering at Gladio, his posture eager.

“There was a trail of something by the river,” Gladio said. “It wasn’t too clear. There’ll be more chance of activity now that the sun’s down.”

“Let’s go check it out, then,” Noctis said, and stood.

Ignis followed them both through the shadows of the park’s undergrowth, trailing the growing scent of running water, and then they skirted around the edge of the river. Gladio and Noct trotted with their noses to the ground, searching. For what, Ignis still didn’t know.

He tried to still his frustration by sniffing at the grasses as he passed. He noted with surprised fascination how his brain interpreted the different smells -- how many he could identify without thinking. He could pick out the different people who had crossed here -- the leather and rubber of shoes, and hints of other things his nose could read but his mind couldn’t interpret. He could pick out the scent of various dogs, and the earthier scent of local wildlife.

Then… he picked up something _cold_. As soon as he smelled it, his hackles rose and he began to growl. Whether or not he knew how to interpret smells, his wolf-body knew the smell of the Cold Ones instinctively. He knew as soon as the others picked it up, too; they stiffened and growled as well.

“There,” Gladio said. “Found it.” Gladio dove into the scent immediately and took the lead, loping ahead through the park. Noctis followed close on his heels, and Ignis trailed a little behind. They kept to the shadows, and soon the trail grew stronger. Ignis could feel the excitement pouring from Noctis and Gladio, and his own body’s thrill at hunting the Cold Ones… and then Gladio stopped, so suddenly that Ignis almost ran into his rump nose first.

There, by the side of the river, a figure crouched low -- wait, it was two figures. One lay prone, the other hunched over the first, and there was a snuffling noise. Gladio growled, and the hunched figure straightened and fled, stumbling away. The three of them rushed to the side of the person on the ground.

It was a man. Probably homeless; he smelled of poor hygiene, and his clothing was in ill repair and needed a wash. The Cold One’s stench was all over him, and the man’s throat bled freely from a bite. Ignis’s lip curled and he growled.

“Still alive, thank the Astrals,” Gladio said.

“The bloodsucker must have just caught him,” Noct said. “He’ll be all right now; we’ll make sure of it.” He looked in the direction the Cold One had taken. “Something’s… Something’s not right.”

Gladio looked at him.

“There’s something familiar about this scent,” Noct said.

“I think you’re right,” Gladio said, “but I can’t place it… All I can smell is the Cold One.”

Ignis just listened, absorbing as much information as he could. Werewolves, he’d already deduced, had something to do with the King’s magic. And the _Cold Ones_ \-- bloodsuckers, they said -- vampires. His body was tense with desire to follow the Cold One, ready to rend and kill. The Cold Ones were _wrong,_ his wolf-self knew. The scent reminded him of daemons.

He wondered if they were related.

“Well,” Noct said, “The only way to figure this out is to follow it.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Gladio said, and loped away, nose to the ground.

The Cold One’s trail meandered through the park -- almost as though it didn’t know the danger that followed it. Or perhaps it didn’t care.

“This one must be newly-turned,” Gladio said as they tracked it. “Any bloodsucker worth its salt would have made a beeline straight for the coven. This one’s all over the place.”

“That’s not good,” Noct said. “Thought we stamped that out a long time ago. Dad won’t like hearing that they’re turning people again.”

“My guess? Your dad already knows. That’s probably why we’re here.”

They found the Cold One curled up on itself in a thicket. They nosed through the brush, their fur catching on branches, and pushed their way closer. The Cold One’s scent bit Ignis’s sinuses. He wanted to snort and shake his head, but he resisted and held himself still. The shadows that would normally have obscured the figure were no hindrance to their wolf eyes; the figure sat, arms wrapped around legs, face pressed into knees, disheveled blonde hair draping over wrists. The three of them moved silently, and yet the figure still looked up when they approached; peered at them with hooded eyes that glowed red in the dark.

… It was Prompto.

The scent of the Cold Ones wafted off Prompto. But… that couldn’t be right. Ignis glanced at Noctis -- and saw the prince in wolf form stiffen and shudder. Gladio was braced to attack, but waited, looking for Noct to take the lead.

Prompto’s eyes were sad and frightened. He ran his tongue over his lips and gave them a tremulous crooked smile, exposing fangs.

“Are you here to kill me?” he said shakily. _“They_ said you would come. Please. Please, I… I don’t want to hurt anyone else but I can’t help it. I… I have someone I need to protect... from… from myself. I… I couldn’t tell him. Just… make it quick. Please.”

Ignis didn’t have time to register his horror; Noct flattened his ears and backed away… and then turned and ran.

It took a moment for Ignis and Gladio to react. Then Gladio darted after the prince, and Ignis followed close behind. Though they lost sight of him and he was _fast,_ Gladio picked up his scent and trailed him on a winding path through the park, into one of its deeper groves. When they found Noctis at last, he was curled into a tight ball, face hidden in his plush black tail. Ignis pressed his nose into Noct’s haunch and Noctis peered up at him.

“I can’t do it,” he wept. “I can’t.”

Gladio sat in front of him, curled his tail around his paws. “You must.”

“Why…?” Noct said. “Why _Prompto?_ I can’t… I can’t kill my _best friend.”_

“They probably knew,” Gladio said somberly. “They knew who he was, and they knew how to hurt you the most.”

Ignis couldn’t take anymore and fled. He found his own place to hide in the dark of the trees, and paced there, frantic and torn.

“Aww, what is this now!”

At the sound of Ardyn’s voice, Ignis growled -- a sound that rumbled his entire body in a very satisfying way. He bristled, and wondered if all his fur was standing on end, with how furious he felt. He wondered if he could keep himself from ripping the man to shreds. He wheeled towards Ardyn and snarled.

“Now, now,” And Ardyn backed away, his hands raised. “I thought you’d find this… enlightening.”

“You take delight in tormenting people,” Ignis tried to say, but it came out a series of snarls.

“No need to be vulgar,” Ardyn said, and hummed. “What a dilemma. Wouldn’t you like to see what choice your prince makes?”

Ignis responded with another snarl and a snap of his jaws.

“I suppose you can’t be more clear than that,” Ardyn said, and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this wasn't so horrible... this is one of the ideas I've considered exploring more fully in a different fic. For Reasons.


	11. Thirst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis bites his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now has its own stand-alone fic! If you want more of this milieu, check out [Thirst](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968286/chapters/47270860).

Ignis blinked -- and found himself standing in the crowded aisle of an arcade. For a bare moment he flexed his fingers and toes and was glad to be himself again and no longer a beast…

Then he was overwhelmed with noise, enough that he staggered backward into someone -- Gladio? -- who put a steadying hand on his shoulder.  It took him a moment, blinking in the intermittent spotlights, to separate the shrill video-game noises from a general susurration -- like a heartbeat -- that emanated from the press of people around him. And it seemed, after a moment, that it was  _ that _ sound, that gentle whoosh of noise from each person who passed, that… made him thirsty. 

Powerfully thirsty. 

He licked his lips and without thinking clamped his teeth together but his tongue wasn’t completely out of the way, and -- 

He muffled a hiss of pain when he bit his tongue. Hard. His mouth filled with a metallic taste. He purposefully ignored how pleasant  the taste was and instead tried to puzzle out how it had  _ happened. _ He  _ never  _ just bit his tongue.

But… the shape of his teeth in his mouth was  _ all wrong. _ How could that  _ be? _

The Arcade had mirrors at intervals around the periphery, in corners and on columns between some of the game machines. Ignis leaned to inspect himself in one one nearby, to see what was going on in his mouth. 

… He didn’t see himself. At all. The mirror reflected the game behind him, and the people who passed at intervals, but his own reflection was missing. Gladio’s, too.

Ignis tried not to let his brain short-circuit. Instead, he focused on tracing his mouth with his tongue, exploring the unusual feel of different teeth taking up more room… Fangs. He had fangs.

No reflection. And fangs. 

He pursed his mouth closed. Vampires.  _ Again. _ Only this time,  _ he _ was one. 

He chanced a glance at Gladio -- a younger Gladio, unscarred, his hair not quite long enough for his mullet, which meant Ignis must be his younger self, as well. Gladio’s attention was elsewhere, tense and scowling. Ignis looked for the target of Gladio’s glare, and found it in Noctis -- clearly Noctis, but with the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head -- working one of the arcade machines with enthusiastic energy.

Gladio nudged Ignis’s shoulder and strode over to Noctis. Ignis followed just in time to hear Gladio whisper, “This isn’t how we usually  _ hunt _ , Noct.”

“I know, I know,” Noctis said, waving a hand. “I just… I don’t have this one, and they’re talking about it on the fan channels.”

“Your dad only lets you have internet access because he feels bad for you,” Gladio said. “If it’s gonna give you weird ideas about what you  _ need, _ then maybe you should stay off it.”

“Shut  _ up, _ Gladio,” Noctis said. But then a jerky robot zombie lunged towards the screen and blood splattered across it (Ignis’s throat tightened) with an embossed “Game Over” in garish yellow lettering. Noctis groaned and pushed away from it. 

“We aren’t here to play  _ games, _ Princess,” Gladio said. “And this place has too many mirrors. Someone’s bound to notice. Why you couldn’t just head to the park like your dad suggested--” 

“Because it’s  _ boring,” _ Noctis cut in. “I’ve hunted the park before with the coven and… the lowlifes we find there don’t  _ taste _ any good.” He made an exaggerated expression of disgust, exposing his own sharp fangs. Ignis had to strangle a gasp; it came out as a cough instead. 

“Close your mouth,” Gladio hissed. “We aren’t safe here.”

“Whatever,” Noctis said. Then, “You okay, Specs?” Noctis looked at him earnestly. “You’ve been pretty quiet.” 

“I’m fine,” Ignis said. 

He wasn't fine. 

He was confused and distressed and very,  _ very _ thirsty. The sounds around him weren’t helping, nor was the smell -- a coppery scent, the source of which, unfortunately, he could just imagine. It was a smell he usually only encountered in the aftermath of battle. No one was openly bleeding here, but he could smell it in the bodies surrounding him nonetheless. He felt sick.

Mostly, he just didn’t know what to say that wouldn't betray him. He was  _ afraid. _ Of Gladio. Of Noctis. Even of himself. Of what they were here to do; of the danger they posed to the people around them. And of the danger they themselves might be in. Were vampires targets here, too? The three of them were clearly doing their best to pass as human -- and he didn't know what he needed to do to keep himself and his companions out of danger. 

Ignis stayed near Gladio as Noctis led them deeper into the belly of the arcade. He skirted past mirrors as quickly as possible, not wanting to tip off any normal humans who might be paying attention. The farther in they pressed, the more Gladio’s face darkened. Ignis could feel the tightness in his throat deepen as well -- his thirst only growing with every person who passed. The smell of blood nearly overwhelmed him, so tantalizing, and he hated it.

Gladio finally exhaled. “Noct, if you’re going to hunt,  _ hunt. _ If not, we’re taking you home and you can use one of your dad’s donors to--” 

“No,” Noctis interjected, and pointed. 

Ignis followed the line of his arm through the amber lighting to… that was  _ Prompto, _ on the other end of the aisle.

“Him,” Noctis said. “I want _ him.” _

In that moment, Ignis caught a powerful scent -- the sweetest he’d smelled in the whole arcade. His reaction to it reminded him of experiencing a fine Tenebraean red wine -- like, and yet completely unlike. Whatever this scent was, he could tell the body he was in would find it delicious. Ignis stood rooted to the ground. He was afraid to make any movement, for fear that he’d just follow where that scent led. 

Noctis headed right towards it. 

“Noct, wait,” Gladio said, and he surged forward and grabbed Noct’s shoulder. 

“What?” Noctis said, trying to shake Gladio’s hand away. “He’s the best thing in this whole place. You can smell him, can’t you?”

“Sure can,” Gladio said, “and he smells like trouble.  _ No one _ smells  _ that _ good, Noct. I think he might be bait.”

_ “Bait?”  _

Gladio pulled him back to Ignis. “I’m not saying ‘ _ no’,”  _ he said. “Just… keep your eyes open and watch for a bit before jumping in there. Gotta make sure he’s not trying to lure us in.” 

“Hunters  _ do  _ that?” 

“Keep your voice down.” Gladio glanced around them. Ignis kept his eyes on Prompto, who was busy at the game in front of him -- a shooter, it looked like, and he was doing really well. No surprise there.

Gladio finally talked Noctis down. There was tension in Gladio's shoulders, though, and he kept scowling in Prompto’s direction, the muscles of his jaw shifting when he clenched his teeth. Ignis wondered if, whatever steel Gladio was made of, Prompto's alluring scent affected him just as much as it did the rest of them. 

Noctis took a machine down the row from Prompto, but he was too distracted to play well. He lost several times, and was so focused on Prompto that he only reacted enough to stick another quarter in the slot to start again. 

When Prompto finished his run (the machine rang with a shrill “High Score” noise), Noct walked away from his own machine without finishing his level, and followed Prompto around the corner -- just far enough back to see where he was going without being noticed. Gladio and Ignis shadowed him closely… 

Until Prompto jogged over to a man and patted him on the arm. The man turned and gave Prompto a broad, relaxed smile. It was Cor. 

Gladio abruptly swore and pulled both of them out of the aisle between two other machines. 

“What is it?” Ignis said. 

“Didn’t you see?” Gladio whispered. 

“It was  _ Cor, _ ” Ignis said.

“Cor?” Noct asked. “Cor the Immortal, the  _ vampire hunter _ ? What’s he doing  _ in an arcade?” _

Ignis froze at “vampire hunter”. Because of _course_ this world would have those, and Cor would be a _natural._ Ignis exhaled sharply. 

“Who knows?” Gladio was saying. “But it looks like our  _ bait _ is pretty chummy with him.” 

Ignis glanced around the machine with Gladio, and sure enough, Prompto was chatting excitedly, and Cor grinned and ruffled his hair and then gestured for him to follow. Cor led Prompto away. But even with Cor’s casual behavior, there was a stiffness to his posture, and alertness to his face. From the way he eyed the shadows as he went, it was clear that  _ he was hunting, too. _

“Sorry, Noct,” Gladio said, “But I’m calling this one. You ain’t going up against kin of Cor the Immortal.” 

“But he smelled so  _ good.”  _ Noct pouted. 

“That’s exactly the problem,” Gladio said. “We don’t know where they’re coming from, but somehow there’s humans so enticing that we can’t resist ‘em -- Dad thinks they’re coming in from Niflheim -- and the hunters are using ‘em to draw us out. Your dad would have my hide if I let you get you entangled in that.” 

Again, with Prompto and Niflheim. This was the third time circumstances in another world had connected Prompto somehow to the Empire. Ignis didn’t like what that might portend for his own Prompto. But that was a puzzle for another time, because now Gladio was leading them away -- out of the arcade, and away from Cor the Immortal, Vampire Hunter.

Noct didn’t look happy, but appeared to know when to let go of an argument. However much he pouted, he still followed Gladio to the front of the arcade and out into the dark.

Ignis trailed behind them, struggling against the thirst. He didn’t want to get separated, but he didn’t want what would be inevitable: this body needed blood, and they were on a hunt. Before he lost control and attacked someone, he needed to get out of here. 

And then Ardyn was there, leaning against a wall beside an alleyway.

Ignis stopped in his tracks. He let Gladio and Noct get a ways ahead before he spoke. “What kind of a joke is _ this?”  _ He asked.

“Far from a joke,” Ardyn said. 

Ignis advanced on him. “But this is…”

“Yet another fascinating turn of events, “ Ardyn purred. 

Before Ignis could stop himself, he had grabbed Ardyn by the collar and pushed him back against the wall. He bared his teeth.

Ardyn looked neither surprised nor afraid. Instead, he looked amused. It was unsettling -- and Ignis realized abruptly that Ardyn (again) had no smell. Nothing to entice Ignis's vampiric nature.

“So fearsome,” Ardyn said.

“Indeed. I'm a danger to everyone around me. Get me out of here before I  _ hurt _ someone.”

“If that is what you wish,” Ardyn said, and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another AU that I found pretty interesting, with several different ways it could go. >:)
> 
> This chapter isn't particularly funny -- but I find it more than a little amusing that Ignis might bite himself because his teeth have changed.


	12. On the Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis has two seconds to learn how to fly. (He doesn't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a little early, thanks to a busy weekend coming up...!
> 
> Also, for the interested, I have a new Twitter account! I'm [@avianscribbles](https://twitter.com/avianscribbles) over there (because @avianscribe was taken, boo!)
> 
> And [I still have my tumblr as well](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com/) \-- though, to be honest, I'm pretty quiet on social media. >_>

Ignis blinked -- and flailed, sudden fear spiking, as he realized he was twenty feet in the air and hurtling toward the sandy ground. He couldn’t help his surprised yelp, and he tried to roll into the fall but there was something on his back, something in the way that caught --

And then there was pain. Sudden, wrenching, and sharp, in a place he couldn’t identify. A place he’d never felt pain before, because it shouldn’t exist -- something connected to his back, because the pain lanced all the way into his shoulder. He rolled several times over and came to a stop on his belly. He grit his teeth through the throbbing and lay still a moment, trying to collect himself and suss out what had just happened… 

He heard footsteps, like someone landing from a jump, to his right; and Noctis’s voice saying, “Whoa, what was  _ that? _ Are you all right, Specs?” There was a shuffle -- like and not like a shifting of fabric, Ignis thought. 

He pushed himself up and sat on his heels. Whatever was on his back dragged at him, but was not heavy. When it shifted, though, sharp pain shot from wherever it was into his shoulders. The small movement he made to adjust his askew glasses hurt. He started to shiver, and even that made pain flare up, so he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to hold himself as still as possible. 

“Igs?” 

He looked up at Noctis -- high-school Noctis, if the cut of his hair was any indication, wearing sweats and a loose tank top. His face was worried, and he reached a hand to help Ignis stand. But the shape of his silhouette against the sky was wrong; something hunched over his shoulders, something black -- two somethings that flared out as he crouched, as though helping him keep his balance...

Wings. Black, soft at his shoulders, with sharp primary feathers that trailed down almost to the ground. 

Ignis tried not to stare. He tried not to as he accepted Noctis’s help to stand, tried not to as he steadied himself against Noctis’s arm. Then he hissed through his teeth when that small movement pulled at whatever was hurting him. 

Noctis held his bicep until he was steady on his feet. Then Noctis stepped away and folded his wings neatly against his back, with a little flip to settle the feathers. Thankfully Noctis wasn’t looking at Ignis’s astonished face. Instead, Noctis was looking behind him -- over his shoulder. And Noctis didn't like whatever he saw, because he winced and took a quick breath that hissed through his teeth.

“That looks bad,” Noctis said. “Let's get you to medical.” 

Ignis stared at him for a moment in puzzlement, then dared a glance over his left shoulder. 

At the wing protruding from his back. Tan with grey scallops at the shoulder, rows of bars along the primaries, and soft white on the underside -- like a barn owl’s, he thought, where Noctis’s wings were like a raven’s. Its twin on his right shoulder was clamped tightly against his back. His left wing hung awkwardly. Some of the primary feathers were oddly bent, as well -- a couple had fallen out completely -- and one, bent closer to the base of the shaft, was even bleeding. That wasn’t right.  _ This  _ was the source of his pain, then. He’d wrenched it in his fall. Stupidly, because he’d had no idea he had wings, nor did he know what to do with them and  _ what was Ardyn’s big idea, dropping him into a winged body when he was still midair, seriously, what was the sense of that. _

“I’ve  _ never _ seen you take a nosedive like that,” Noctis was saying, as he picked up the loose primaries from the ground. “What happened?”

“I have no idea,” Ignis said. And it was true.

Noctis handed Ignis the feathers and he accepted them gingerly, wincing when even that movement hurt.

“Let’s get you some help, quick.” And Noctis wrapped an arm gently around Ignis’s back -- over his clamped right wing, and carefully under the left wing arm, with his hand pressed against Ignis’s ribs. 

And that’s how Ignis discovered how incredibly sensitive his wings were to touch. 

Ignis tried not to tense, because every time he tightened his muscles the wrenched wing twinged with pain. But everywhere Noct’s arms made contact with his feathers, his skin shivered. 

Noctis knew it, apparently. “Sorry,” he said. “Kinda have to touch your wings to help you, but it’s not too far.”

As he tried to quell his confusion, Ignis recognized that they were in an open plaza behind the Citadel -- secure, but open to the sky -- with a wide sandy area that looked like it was set up to be a training arena. Several weapons racks were lined up along the borders of the sand, and a couple winged Crownsguard trainees stood at the edges, and watched the pair of them leave the sand. The Citadel above… Ignis couldn't help staring.Tiny specks that he'd taken at first for birds were actually people. Many of the windows, especially in what he guessed were the residential areas, actually opened onto patios, and people could be seen coming and going on wing. 

“So what happened?” Noctis asked, startling Ignis out of his awe. “Why didn't you pull up? You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Ignis said, but his voice was tight with pain.

“You don’t need to lie to  _ me _ ,” Noctis replied. “You just got done telling me how dangerous that maneuver was and not to try it until I was more confident. Pot, kettle...” and he gave a little half-chuckle.

Ignis’s face burned with mortification. He was accustomed to competence, and it hurt knowing that he had failed so badly in something Noctis thought he should be able to do. He tried to reason with himself that he’d never had wings before, but it didn’t erase the fact that  _ Noctis _ expected better, and he had failed to deliver. 

But how was he to know what to expect between one world and the next? It’s not like he had the chance to get used to his new body every damn time -- let alone in the five seconds he’d had this time before he smashed into the ground. He was lucky he hadn’t  _ died. _ He grit his teeth and sucked a breath in, trying not to voice his frustration. He hoped Noctis would attribute it to his injury. 

Noctis seemed to. He just ushered Ignis inside, and they headed through the Citadel hallways to the medical offices. Ignis was keenly aware of the eyes that followed them as they passed -- people peering at him with surprise and curiosity both. Nearly everyone they passed had wings, Ignis noted, but not all. He wondered what dictated the difference in this world. But he couldn’t ask, because it was sure to be something he should already know. 

“Gladio’s gonna regret missing training this morning,” Noctis said. “He’d never let you live that down.”

“The less said to Gladio about it, the better,” Ignis murmured, too preoccupied by pain to think about what Gladio might say if he’d seen Ignis fall out of the sky like a stone.

Noctis snorted. “He’s gonna want to know why you’re grounded.”

_ Grounded? _ Ignis grimaced. Then it occurred to him that, rather than the infantile definition, Noctis might mean that he would be  _ stuck on the ground _ , as in unable to fly. 

He wasn’t sure that made it better. Except perhaps it did, because he personally had no idea how to fly, and he had no way of knowing if his body would remember. That seemed to vary from world to world. And he wasn’t willing to risk discovering in midair that he  _ couldn’t _ .

Noctis helped Ignis all the way to the clinic door and then the medics shooed the prince away “for privacy reasons, Highness, you understand” -- and after a handful of distressed royal protests, Ignis was on his own. He hoped beyond hope that the attendants asked no questions he couldn’t answer. Thankfully, they had his full medical file and only asked questions pertaining to his current physical state. 

Which he still wasn’t entirely sure about. He had  _ extra limbs, _ after all.

After careful assessment, the physician declared that his wing was badly sprained (and not broken). He was definitely grounded. For four weeks, at least. 

A nurse helped him clean up, extracted the bleeding feather (which smarted more than he thought it would), trimmed the broken ones, inspected the ones that had fallen out, gave him a painkiller, and wrapped the injured wing thoroughly with ace bandages -- even securing it to his side by wrapping it with more bandages around his torso. They told him he should report in daily for a bandage change and to check on his progress. He was to move it as little as possible, and to try not to get the bandage wet; that the lost primaries should start to regrow soon, but he’d have to watch the blood feathers and eat a balanced diet while they were growing in. Then they handed him the loose feathers -- both whole and trimmed -- and ushered him out. 

In the hallway, he stared at the feathers in his hand. The whole ones were probably four feet long, white with tan bars every handspan. He fingered the fringed edges. Like an owl’s feathers -- made for silent flight.

They… were  _ his, _ somehow. Impossibly. This body had  _ grown _ them.

“Hey!” 

Ignis dismissed the feathers to the armiger and looked up to see Gladio bearing down on him. Young-ish Gladio, the scar on his face new and red, his tattoo still the thin lines of its early form. His wings were like a hawk's -- red-brown above and pale underneath -- and he held them mantled over his shoulders for balance as he moved, exposing the lighter underside. The effect was probably more menacing than Gladio intended. His expression looked grim. Ignis hoped it was concern, rather than anger.

Gladio came to a stop in front of Ignis and looked him over, taking in the bandages. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Except for my dignity, yes,” Ignis said bitterly. 

Gladio snorted. “That many bandages, and you’re really all right? What happened?”

“A sprain, is all,” Ignis said.

“What kind of dumb thing did Noct have you do  _ this _ time?” Gladio said, and this time his voice carried an edge. But Ignis couldn't answer that. He didn't actually know what Noct was having him demonstrate when he’d fallen from the sky.

“You don't need to protect him,” Gladio said darkly. “He should be smart enough not to talk you into dumb things.”

“Do you honestly believe I would allow him to talk me into something truly dangerous?” Ignis retorted. He felt confident in this much, at least. Whatever physical differences he might have in this world, he was still himself. “This was just my own miscalculation.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow and side-eyed Ignis, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so,” he said. 

Ignis decided to head to his rooms in the Citadel. He greatly desired a change of clothes. And a nap. He desperately needed sleep.

Gladio followed him. “So…” Gladio ventured. “How long?” 

_ How long --  _ as in, how long was Ignis  _ grounded. _

“Four weeks,” Ignis said.

Gladio blinked. “So… what’re you gonna do about your Crownsguard exam?” 

Ignis sighed. He was  _ that age,  _ then. And the exam must be soon. Soon enough that he’d either be grounded for it, or he wouldn’t be able to prepare for it sufficiently. But he didn’t have enough information. About a lot of things. “I don’t know, Gladio. What do  _ you _ suggest I do?”

Gladio shifted and glanced away. “You’d probably better talk to Cor right away. I mean, he’ll need to know.” 

“Of course,” Ignis said, and kept walking. He patted at the pockets of his sweats, but he didn’t have a phone on him. He wondered if Noctis had it -- or if he’d left it outside in the training arena.  Gladio followed him to the residential suite. He passed by Noct’s room, and then...

Gladio cleared his throat. “Are… you sure you’re okay?” 

“It hurts a little, still, but I should be fine.”

“It’s just…” 

Ignis stopped and faced him. “What, Gladio?”

Gladio looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?” 

“My room.”

Gladio squinted at him. “You sure you didn’t hit your head, or something?” 

Ignis swallowed. “I… don’t believe so. Why?”

“You and Noct have shared an aerie for weeks.”

Ignis blinked. He was sure he couldn’t hide the surprise on his face.

“Yeah, okay… I’m taking you back to medical,” Gladio said.

“I assure you, they checked for a concussion,” Ignis protested, but Gladio put a hand between his shoulder blades and steered him back towards the elevator. 

Ignis was too tired to fight him. He was too tired to  _ care _ .

So he found himself back in an exam room, while Gladio pulled the medic into the hall, whispering in concerned tones about Ignis’s injury and possible memory loss, and Ignis just tuned it out. The door closed behind them, and he was left alone. 

The medicine had worked well enough that the pain in his wing had faded to a dull throb. This world just didn’t make sense. Why wings? They were impossible, from an evolutionary standpoint, so where did they  _ come  _ from? And…   _ why in Bahamut’s great heaven  _ would he be sharing a room with Noctis when he was still in  _ high school? _ How would that possibly be acceptable? King Regis would  _ never _ have allowed it... 

At the thought of the king, he felt the sudden ache of grief anew, and a wave of fatigue. He wanted to be returned to his own world  _ now _ \-- but he knew that if he was, he’d be thrown back into a fight he was almost too exhausted to resume. And there were so many questions left to resolve. What had Ardyn meant by “Chosen King’s destiny”? And would knowing that help Ignis figure out how to escape whatever insidious maze this was that Ardyn had trapped him in?

“You really are hopeless.”

Ignis looked up to see Ardyn sitting in the doctor’s stool, legs crossed, leaning against the far wall. He was smiling -- a cruel smile, but twisted with what looked like irritation.

“What did I say about disturbing the world order?” Ardyn said.

“How am I supposed to  _ preserve the world order  _ when I land here not even knowing what the world order  _ is?”  _ Ignis countered, only just managing to keep from yelling. “I was lucky I didn’t  _ die!” _

“Oh, I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Ardyn said. “But look at you. The Prince of Lucis had his hands all over you and you  _ didn’t even notice. _ How many people would  _ love  _ to take your place, and you just don’t care.”

Hot anger swelled in Ignis’s chest. “I’ve already made my feelings about that  _ perfectly _ clear.” 

Ardyn sighed heavily. “You just don’t understand a good thing when you have it,” he said. “Well, I can tell what you feel about this world; it’s clearly not worth convincing you to stay.” 

“Wait--” Ignis started, but it was too late, and Ardyn snapped his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon!Ignis is _so confused..._
> 
> Edit: I gave Ignis owl wings because they would be a useful asset for someone in training to be an assassin; they really are designed for silent flight. And I chose barn owl wings because _have you seen barn owls_


	13. Drowning in Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto is ill and Ignis decides to help, against his better judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it happens, I'm a HUGE sucker for hanahaki stories. If you've never heard of this trope before, [Fanlore.org has a good write-up.](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Hanahaki_Disease)
> 
> This chapter now has a full fic expansion, from Prompto's POV. :) Check out the series link and look for the fic with the same title as this chapter!

Ignis blinked. He was standing at Noct’s apartment door, back in his late-teens professional attire. He flexed his shoulders. His wings were gone. He felt a baffling wave of loss -- baffling because he hadn’t even gotten to use them. Then he realized his hand was poised in front of the door of Noct’s apartment, having just pushed it open…

From inside, he heard the wet gagging of a dreadful coughing fit. It sounded like Prompto. Ignis rushed in, quickly slipped his shoes off by the door, and bolted into the living area. Noctis and Prompto huddled together on the couch -- and they both jolted when he entered, and gawked at him.

“Is everything all right?” Ignis asked.

Noctis looked worried. Prompto’s face was splotched with red, his eyes wide with distress and… something else Ignis couldn’t quite pin down. But as soon as they locked eyes, Prompto’s expression changed to alarm. Prompto leapt up from the couch and grabbed his school bag and choked out a hasty “see you tomorrow” and then was gone. His coughing receded as he passed down the hallway.

Ignis stared at the door in confusion, then turned to Noctis. He set his satchel on the table as he passed it. “Is Prompto all right?” he asked.

“No,” Noctis said, and held out his hand. “Look.”

In the palm of Noct’s hand was a perfectly formed but damp sylleblossom. Ignis stared at it.

“I just found out,” Noctis said, his voice hoarse. “He’s got the hanahaki. He started coughing up petals weeks ago, but now it’s sometimes full flowers. _You_ know what that means.”

Ignis just looked at Noctis in confusion.

“C’mon, Ignis, You’re the one who taught me about this! In that whole lecture about my marriage duty to the crown, with all those warnings about not falling in love with someone I couldn’t have!”

Ignis’s mouth dropped open as he struggled to think of what to say.

“He _loves_ someone,” Noctis said. “And they don’t love him back. He hasn’t told them. Ignis, He’s gonna _die_.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating,” Ignis said.

“I’m not,” Noctis said, his eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. “Ignis, he _won’t tell them._ I tried to convince him, but he keeps saying it doesn’t matter, that he’s not good enough, that… that whoever-it-is is ‘way out of his league’...” His voice caught. “I’m gonna lose my best friend.” He curled in on himself, wrapped his arms around himself and… started to sob.

Ignis awkwardly raised a hand, about to say something, but thought better of it -- and finally just joined Noctis on the couch, and put an arm around his shoulders. Noctis leaned into him, resting his forehead against Ignis’s shoulder, and cried. He cried, and his tears soaked through Ignis’s white shirt, but Ignis still held him and rubbed his back, and murmured things he thought might be comforting. He’d seldom had to be _this_ kind of emotional support and he was at a loss.

It took a few minutes for Noctis to stop crying, but his breath still hitched and he clung to Ignis. Finally, Ignis took Noct’s shoulders and pushed him back so he could look him eye to eye. “Feeling better?”

Noct’s face pinched. “No,” he said.

“So… what now?” Ignis asked.

“I mean… he could confess, or he could have the surgery… but you know what he’s like about failure and money. He won’t do either of those.”

Surgery. So this ailment was serious. Ignis made a mental note to look it up as soon as he was alone. “Come now,” he said gently. “Surely there’s something we can do for him.”

Noctis snorted. “Since when could we ever convince _Prompto_ that he’s worth the world?”

Ignis thought back to his _own_ Prompto, who had certainly experienced doubt coupled with a healthy dose of self-loathing… but they had _all_ worked hard to convince him of his worth, and Ignis knew it was possible. “Let’s start with this,” he said. “Invite him over for dinner and games, and I’ll make something he likes to eat.”

Noct looked at him, his eyes wide. “You…you sure?”

“Of course,” Ignis said. “I could do nothing less for a friend.”

Noctis looked away. “He’s _my_ friend,” he murmured.

“That doesn’t mean he can’t be mine, too,” Ignis said.

They sat like that in tense silence for a few minutes more before Noctis declared that he was tired and wanted to go to bed early. Ignis took his leave.

He was troubled. He _cared_ too much. He had seldom seen his own Noctis so vulnerable; the prince always put up too many walls. And now, even knowing that this was not his world, that he could be pulled out of it at any moment, Ignis wanted to help. But it wasn’t his place. It _shouldn’t_ be. He should be focusing on his _own_ problems -- like figuring out how to get home. In all the worlds he’d suffered through so far, Ardyn had given him no time to breathe and rest, let alone think. There were too many puzzles to solve.

But Ardyn had _also_ warned him against disturbing the world order… which is exactly what he would do if he were to abandon everything and focus on his own problems. So for now, he stuck to his routine. He followed his customary path to the car, drove himself home, and when he wasn’t greeted by Ardyn, he glanced at the time on his phone. It read 21:30. He sank into a chair at his little table and leaned on it, rubbing his temples. His bed was calling him -- he _really_ needed rest, and who knew when Ardyn would show up and pull him away -- but at the same time…

Ignis took a deep breath, pulled his laptop from his satchel and opened a browser. Then he looked up everything he could about this “coughing-up-flowers” ailment.

What he found horrified him.

The first symptoms of the growth included shortness of breath and coughing up flower petals. Victims died horribly, suffocating on the flowers growing in their own lungs. (There were pictures. After glancing at one, Ignis closed that tab and tried to find text-only options.)

And it was caused by unrequited love. ( _How was that even possible?)_ As Noctis had said, the ailment -- Hanahaki Disease? How poetic -- could only be cured by confession, the other person returning their feelings; or by surgery to remove the growth, but resulting in the victim forgetting everything about the person they loved. There were some lists of suggestions to ease the symptoms, but all sources were universal. Once the patient showed symptoms, there really were only three courses of action: reciprocal confession, surgery, or death.

Ignis’s heart sank. If Noctis was right, and Prompto was not likely to risk the threat of rejection or take advantage of the medical care available...

This was not a problem that could be solved quickly. Ignis had no idea when Ardyn would show up to pull him away… but right now, at the very least, he could help Noctis comfort Prompto with companionship and good food.

Ignis checked his pantry and found he was only short a few items for Prompto’s favorite curry, so he made a quick trip to the store to fill out the ingredients. That done, he… waited.

It was late evening now, and he longed to sleep, but he wasn’t convinced he’d get it. This was the first time Ardyn had left him in a world so long. In most of the worlds he’d been in, too much was going on for him to _breathe_ , let alone think. He finally convinced himself to at least change into pyjamas. To brush his teeth. Then he sat in bed, propped up by pillows, scrolling through more sites about this _hanahaki_ ailment. He expected to be torn from this world at any time, and he was ready. Waiting.

He should be thinking about solutions to his own problems -- puzzling the riddle of the Chosen King’s destiny, figuring out how to get Ardyn to return him home. But he found his mind drifting. He was _so weary,_ it was difficult to hold on to any line of reasoning just now--

And then it was morning. His phone had slipped from his fingers at some point, and buzzed its alarm from his lap. He blinked at the room around him, confused, until his mind caught up with him.

And then he was at once relieved and irritated. Relieved that he had more time to help Prompto and Noctis, and irritated that Ardyn had left him here so long and he _still_ hadn’t come up with any solutions for his _own_ problems.

With that mix of emotions, he prepared for his day… and when he picked up Noct to take him to school, he repeated the offer to have Prompto come to dinner that night.

Then he waited more.

Waited for Ardyn to show up and whisk him away again, and waited for word from Noct about Prompto. He checked and double-checked his calendar, but it was mostly mundane errands for the day, and he completed them with his customary efficiency, all the while keeping an eye on his phone and watching the shadows.

Thinking about _the Chosen King’s destiny_.

He had no clues. And now that he apparently had _time_ to concentrate on it, the expectation of seeing Ardyn around any corner overshadowed his every thought. He couldn't focus.

To distract himself from Ardyn’s persistent absence, he turned to cooking -- planning for dinner. He’d start the beef just after lunch, to give it time to simmer, so it would be perfectly tender. He’d start prepping the vegetables after he retrieved Noct and his friend from school; maybe Prompto would like to help out, even. Ignis… was pleased. Satisfied even.

It wasn’t until lunch time that he finally got a text.

 **HRH Noctis** [11:57am] >> prompto isnt here  
**HRH Noctis** [11:57am] >> hasnt answered any of my texts  
**HRH Noctis** [11:57am] >> go check on him pls

Alarm settled in Ignis’s gut. _It’s not real,_ he told himself. _This is an imaginary world conjured up by Ardyn; it’s not real_.

But it _felt_ real. His misgiving was real; his worry for this Prompto was real worry. He leafed through his files to find Prompto’s personal address, just to make sure he remembered it correctly, and then he set out.

Prompto’s house was easily found -- it was one of the mid-grade suburban neighborhoods -- but Ignis had forgotten how abandoned it looked. The small yard, even though meticulously kept, felt empty. Ignis knocked on the door and for a while there was no answer. Then he heard a shuffling and a muffled coughing from inside, and soon enough, Prompto cracked open the door.

He looked terrible. He hadn’t put in his contacts, and his glasses were huge on his face. His hair was stringy and unwashed, and his face looked wan. He peered out and blearily focused on Ignis. His eyes went wide and spots of color formed on his cheeks.

“Prompto,” Ignis said hesitantly. “Noctis asked me to come check on you. He was worried.”

“... Oh.” Prompto’s voice was hoarse.

“Can I… get you anything?” Ignis ventured. “Noct wanted to invite you to dinner tonight, but if you are unwell…”

“No, no--” Prompto started, but then devolved into a coughing fit. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand.

Ignis put out a hand in concern, but drew it back almost at once when Prompto backed away, still hacking. Bright blue sylleblossom petals escaped between his fingers, and he coughed and convulsed and watched them fall to the ground, eyes wide with mortification.

“Prompto, I--”

“I’ll be -- *cough* -- fine, please, Ignis, please go--” and then Prompto’s voice wheezed as he tried to inhale. His face was blotchy red.

“Prompto, sit down; I’m taking you to a clinic this instant.”

Prompto looked like he was trying to shake his head, but he couldn’t quite, while coughing. But he did sink to his knees in the doorway, and Ignis knelt beside him and rubbed his back in soothing circles. When Prompto’s coughing eased, more petals fluttered to the ground.

“Igs, really,” Prompto said, his voice scratchy and thin. “You don’t need to do this; I can get myself to a clinic, I’ll be fine…”

“Prompto, you’re nowhere near fine,” Ignis said. “And would you really take yourself to a clinic?”

Prompto hugged himself and looked miserable. The color hadn’t left his cheeks, even now that he had stopped coughing. Ignis nodded.

“I’m just going to send a quick message, if you don’t mind getting some shoes on and make yourself ready to go…”

“But Ignis, I--”

“Do you have a favorite general practitioner?”

Prompto hesitated and then shook his head. “No, but I--”

“Would it be acceptable to you to be seen at one of the Citadel’s clinics?”

“Igs --”

“I will see to it that it is free of charge.”

Prompto paused mid-protest, his mouth open. Then he sagged and nodded.

Ignis waved Prompto into the house to get ready to go and pulled out his phone to text Noctis about what was going on. Then he waited for Prompto.

Noctis was quick to text back his gratitude, and asked Ignis to assure Prompto that he would copy notes for their shared classes. Ignis passed the message on as soon as Prompto emerged. He’d combed his hair in an attempt to make himself more presentable, but he still wore his sweats, chocobo shirt, and glasses, and he looked absolutely wretched.

Ignis tried not to stare, but still glanced at him often as he guided him to the car. He cleared his throat and said, “Noct would still be delighted if you joined us for dinner tonight, if you're feeling up to it. We’re having curry.”

Prompto’s cheeks pinked up even more, and he mumbled ascent, then coughed again.

“Excellent,” Ignis said, and pulled open the passenger door to let Prompto in.

By the time Ignis took the driver’s seat, Prompto had settled and was leaning against the door, looking away. His breath made puffs of fog on the window. On the way to the clinic, Prompto had a couple more coughing spells, each leaving him more breathless than the last. Ignis caught him surreptitiously stuffing flower petals in his pockets.

When they arrived at the Citadel, Ignis hoped beyond hope that the clinic was in the same place here as in his own world… and to his relief, it was. And, it turned out, had one of the premier hanahaki treatment centers in Insomnia. They took Prompto back to an exam room right away. Ignis asked if he should stay, but Prompto waved him away. “You’re a busy guy; you don’t need to waste your time on me.”

“It would be my--”

“Please, Ignis…” Prompto’s eyes pleaded with him, and his breath caught in a cough, leaving more petals fluttering to the floor. “Thanks for… for this,” he wheezed. “But I couldn’t ask you to do more.”

Ignis hesitated, and then nodded. “Text Noct when you need to go home, and he’ll let me know; I can drive you. And I do hope we’ll see you for dinner tonight.”

Prompto gave a half smile. “Y.. yeah,” he said shakily.

Ignis returned to his car slowly, thoughtfully. Prompto’s condition did not look good at all. The clinic should be able to help him. Ignis just hoped they weren't too late. He pulled open the sedan's door and sank into the driver's seat. He sighed, then glanced to the empty passenger seat.

It wasn't so empty.

Prompto hadn't managed to catch everything he'd coughed up, and the seat was scattered with saliva-damp sylleblossom petals -- and one half-bloomed flower.

Ignis grabbed a tissue from the box he kept behind his seat, and used it to gather the petals up. He cupped them in his hand, examining the perfectly-formed veins and the opening bud. That couldn't have felt good coming up, he thought with grim distaste. He wrapped them all firmly in the tissue and banished them into the armiger.

Ignis drove Noct’s apartment and threw himself into cooking. He was already late with the meat, and the shorter time meant it wouldn’t be quite as tender. He started searing it right away, and then set it to simmer in some stock; and then he got a text from Noct.

 **HRH Noctis** [2:36pm] >> They’re admitting him  
**HRH Noctis** [2:36pm] >> It’s really bad  
**HRH Noctis** [2:37pm] >> Ignis, what am I gonna do

 **Ignis** [2:38pm] >> We’ll do everything we can to support him.  
**Ignis** [2:39pm] >> Please see if he would like us to bring some curry to him.  
**Ignis** [2:40pm] >> I’d hate for it to go to waste.

 **HRH Noctis** [2:45pm] >> He says sure  
**HRH Noctis** [2:45pm] >> It wouldn’t go to waste; I’d eat it

 **Ignis** [2:46pm] >> You’d pick out the vegetables; and they’re the best part.

 **HRH Noctis** [2:46pm] >> lies

Ignis gave a frustrated sigh. Noctis might be joking, but there was tension in the banter. Ignis turned the heat on the stove down to low, and then headed to pick Noctis up from school.

Once they were home, Noctis actually offered to prep vegetables for him, since it was for Prompto. The rice went on the stove, the meat and sauce and veg were left to simmer, and Noctis actually worked on homework while they waited… and then Ignis boxed a serving of the curry, stored the rest away in the fridge, and they headed out to see Prompto.

When they arrived at the clinic, the staff directed them to the hospital wing. And there, in a bare room, Prompto lay in a bed, oxygen tube under his nose, heart monitor behind his bed. When he saw them at the door, his eyes went from Noctis to Ignis and back, and his heart monitor started beeping faster. Then he started coughing again. Noctis raced to his side and put a hand to his shoulder. Ignis followed behind, clutching the box to his chest.

It took some moments for Prompto’s coughing to calm, and between each heaving hack, he glanced anxiously between Noctis and Ignis. His lap slowly filled with blue petals. When his fit passed, he brushed the petals off his lap with a flick of his wrist. He heaved a sigh.

“Hey,” he said at last, his voice scratchy.

“Hey,” Noctis said. “Um. Since you couldn’t come to dinner, we brought dinner to you.” He gestured at Ignis, who stepped forward and held the box of curry to Prompto.

Prompto reached out and took the box from Ignis, and leaned forward to sniff at it. His cheeks pinked up again and he murmured a quiet thanks. Then he coughed again, a quick hack that turned into a wheezing paroxysm. Ignis rushed forward and grabbed the box of food just before it fell from Prompto’s grip. Ignis set the boxed curry on the side table and leaned forward to place a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto waved him off, and continued to gasp and cough. Ignis and Noctis shared a glance, then moved aside for a nurse that entered. She checked the monitors, and then waved Noctis and Ignis out of the room.

“Sorry, gentlemen, but we may need to stabilize him before he can have visitors.”

“Oh, um…” Noctis said. “Of course.”

“May we check in tomorrow?” Ignis asked. Inside the room, Prompto hacked and wheezed again, and Ignis glanced through the door at him just in time to see him pull a fully-formed blossom, slick with saliva, from his mouth; to watch him stare at it in horror.

The nurse glanced at Prompto too. “It depends on his condition,” she said. “But you may certainly check at the desk in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said, then ushered Noctis from the ward.

Noctis quivered with distress.

Ignis placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be made right soon,” he said.

“But we don’t even know who it _is,”_ Noctis moaned. “At this rate…”

“He might confide in _you,_ ” Ignis suggested.

“He wouldn’t earlier.”

Ignis glanced back into the medical wing. “Try tomorrow. Perhaps he’ll change his mind.”

Noctis pursed his lips and was silent.

Ignis would have escorted the prince to his apartment, but Noctis insisted on staying in his rooms in the Citadel, so he could be as close to Prompto as possible. Ignis wondered if Noctis was planning to sneak in to see Prompto after visiting hours. The thought made him sad--  

And that gave him pause. It wasn’t right; he knew this world wasn’t _his._ In his own reality, there was no such thing as Hanahaki Disease, and Prompto wasn’t suffering from it. Ignis had been dragged through so many alternate realities without feeling any affinity for them whatsoever -- mostly he'd felt utter bafflement or horror. So why now? Why _this?_

Ignis retired to his own chambers at the Citadel -- a fully-furnished suite near enough to Noct’s that he could be summoned quickly if needed. He realized, as he removed his shoes by the door, that he and Noctis had not eaten anything before coming to visit Prompto. He texted Noctis, who quickly assured him that he’d already contacted the kitchens to have something sent up.

 _Probably pizza,_ Ignis imagined with disgust, thinking longingly of the curry cooling in Noct’s fridge. He’d been looking forward to that. He thought about ordering something from the kitchen to eat himself. He tried to remember the menu and was overwhelmed with unexpected nostalgia, thinking back to particular dishes he remembered enjoying. Their meat pies, or the little seafood-filled dumplings… It had been so long, and with the Citadel in ruins in his own reality, he would never get to eat them again. He should definitely have some now while he could. His stomach made a most uncouth noise of agreement.

Then he shook himself. What was he _doing_ ? He had been here too long already! He needed to get back to _his_ Noctis. But a quick investigation of his rooms revealed nothing. He was alone; everything appeared _normal._ Ardyn had already proven that he would appear in his own time, but… it had been an _entire day._ Ignis had been so preoccupied by Prompto that the time had practically flown by, and he hadn’t even noticed. He felt a wash of shame, and then of irritation.

“Ardyn, _where are you?_ ” he murmured.

Only silence answered him. 

 

* * *

****

Ignis woke from his _second_ night in this reality to a string of texts from Noctis. He blinked at the time on his phone and wondered how the prince had managed to get up so early.

The text messages filled him in. Prompto was to go into surgery immediately, as his condition was extremely serious and only getting worse. Noctis had ordered the hospital staff to keep him updated on his friend’s status, and they had sent someone to wake him an hour before Prompto’s scheduled surgery, so Noctis could visit with his friend before he was put under.

Noctis was in the hospital wing now.

Ignis sent a quick “would you like me to join you?” and then lay back with a sigh and rubbed hands over his face. He heaved himself up and was in the middle of getting dressed when his phone pinged again.

 **HRH Noctis** [6:37am] dont need to hurry  
**HRH Noctis** [6:37am] they’re taking him back now  
**HRH Noctis** [6:38am] maybe have breakfast w me while we wait

 **Ignis** [6:39am] Of course.

He joined Noctis outside the hospital wing. Ignis blinked when he saw the prince; somewhere he had acquired an extremely large chocobo plush, complete with a red ribbon around its neck. Noctis carried it with him as they walked down to the kitchens, and Ignis said nothing.

The kitchen staff was astonished to see Noctis at this early hour, and their surprise made them generous. Ignis carried away plates heaped high with sausages, eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and returned for a mug of coffee while Noctis ensconced himself and the chocobo plush at a table in the cafeteria. Then they tucked in, and as they ate, Ignis managed to coax Noctis into talking about his morning with Prompto.

It hadn’t been the best. Prompto’s condition had kept him awake all night. He had strained a muscle with all his coughing, so every breath was painful, in addition to being congested with flowers to begin with. He’d been very weak, and not very talkative.

And he still hadn’t confided in Noctis; had just asked him to be there when he woke. Which Noctis was more than willing to do.

Prompto had eaten the curry, and Noctis passed along his gratitude to Ignis. And that’s where things went south. “He was crying, Iggy. He said thanks, and he was crying.” Noct’s face puckered.

Ignis put a hand on his arm. “He’ll be right as rain soon,” he said.

“Yeah,” Noctis said with a shuddering breath. “But which of us is he going to _forget?_ ”

Ignis snapped his mouth shut. He thought back to what he remembered reading about the disease -- that surgery meant the afflicted would _lose all memory of the loved one_. It hadn’t occurred to him to make that connection. Surely Prompto had a life outside his association with Noctis and Gladio and himself. But when he thought about it… he wasn’t so sure. In his own reality, at any rate. And this one seemed to be the same, save for this peculiar disease.

That meant… that possibly they _were_ Prompto’s only friends.

Ignis didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

They returned to the clinic’s waiting area, where Noctis paced back and forth, unable to sit still. The chocobo plush took up an entire seat all by itself, and Ignis sat by it, and idly patted its head. He tried to convince Noctis to sit, but his heart wasn’t in it. There was just too much to think about. He didn’t even know where to begin. This was all so wrong.

Then the door at the far end opened, and a doctor approached. “Highness?”

Noctis broke away with an urgent bound and rocked on the balls of his feet in front of the doctor. “How is he?” he pressed.

“He’s in recovery now,” the doctor said with a smile, “and he’ll be waking soon. The surgery went well, in spite of the disease’s progression; the intrusion into his lungs was pretty extensive. He should recover well, though, in the absence of complications.”

Noctis breathed a sigh of relief. “Can we… can we see him?” His voice was hesitant.

“Not quite yet, Highness. But we’ll send someone for you when he wakes.”

Noctis simply nodded, and they were waiting again. But they didn’t wait nearly as long; a mere twenty minutes, and they were treading the corridor behind an orderly to a wide hall partitioned with curtains. Behind one of the curtains, they found Prompto -- eyes half-lidded , hair limp over his forehead, oxygen tubes still under his nose, and still connected to an IV. His head lolled their direction as they approached, and his eyes widened when he saw Noctis and the large plush. Ignis fell back, hovering at the edge of the curtain.

Noctis smiled. “How’re you feeling?” he said.

“Mmmfine,” Prompto slurred. “Tired. Throat hurts.” His voice crackled a little.

Noctis hesitated, then held out the chocobo. “Brought you something.”

Prompto gasped, soft and low. “For me?” he said, and made grabby hands at it. Noctis settled it into his lap, and he immediately buried his hands into its crested head and pulled it down so he could nestle his face into its fuzz. He stroked its plush “feathers”, making cooing noises so adorable that Noctis actually genuinely laughed, a low chuckle.

Ignis even smiled. “You knew exactly what he needed,” he said.

At the sound of Ignis’s voice, Prompto looked up and met his eyes. A series of puzzled expressions flitted across his face before settling into guarded anxiety. “Um…” he said. “Noct, you… made a new friend while I was out?”  

Noctis stared between Prompto and Ignis, horror dawning on his face.

Ignis straightened. He carefully schooled his face and suppressed the surge of dismay he shouldn’t be feeling. He should have expected something like this -- and this wasn’t his world anyway, that he would have to handle the repercussions. Still… he felt for this world’s Ignis and the mess he was going to have to deal with. “Excuse me,” he said, executing a slight bow. “Highness, I’ll just be in the waiting area.”

And he turned and left before Noctis could object. As he passed through the door, he heard Noctis say, with a touch of bitterness, “That’s… That’s Ignis. He’s my… my advisor.”

Then Ignis truly fled, before Prompto could ask why they hadn’t met before.

He found himself a seat in a corner of the waiting room and sat, stiffly straight, wondering what he should do now.

“Terrible, isn’t it?”

Ignis almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled.

Ardyn lounged in the next seat as though he’d been sitting there for hours, his fedora tilted forward to cover his eyes. With a thumb he lifted the brim and peered at Ignis.

“Where have you _been?”_ Ignis asked.

“Oh, no need to take that tone with me,” Ardyn purred. “I simply thought I’d give you a chance to see how this turn of events played out. You would always wonder, otherwise. So?”

Ignis shook his head. “I’m not staying here.”

“Hmm,” Ardyn said, and straightened in his chair. “Another world off the list, then. Well, that’s fine; there are plenty of other options.”

“What are you after?” Ignis asked.

“Oh, didn’t I say?” Ardyn said. “I am helping you find other possibilities, so that your choices don’t seem so limited and drastic.”

“Using the Ring of the Lucii is drastic, then?”

“Don’t you think so?”

Ignis stiffened. “I would do anything to save my king.”

“Would you, now?” Ardyn’s lip curled. “But do you really know what will save him?”

And then Ignis remembered, and spat it out before Ardyn could avoid it again. “You said something before about the Chosen King’s destiny. What did you mean?”

“ _Now_ you ask. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not inclined to say.” Ardyn pulled his legs in and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“But--”

“You decided, didn’t you? You don’t want to stay here, so let’s find you something different, shall we?”

“Wait--!” Ignis lifted a hand, but Ardyn snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, we'll get back to the funny soon! ^_^


	14. Second Star to the Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis needs some happy thoughts and has none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early again, because my schedule for the coming week is kind of insane! Speaking of which... this next couple of weeks are going to be hectic on my end, so even though I have a bit of a buffer, I am switching to posting every other week, just so I don't eat up my buffer and hate myself forever. (Okay I wouldn't _really_ hate myself forever. But I'm stressed enough as it is.) So please bear with me! And thanks for reading this incredibly silly adventure; I appreciate your comments!

Ignis blinked -- and then blinked again, in sunlight filtered through towering leafy blades. He peered up and around him. He was surrounded by giant plants, the earth beneath his feet spongy with moss. And he… was wearing the most fanciful-looking, leaf-themed brown boots that curled up at the toes like some idealized fantasy creation. They looked completely ridiculous and impractical… and completely matched the leggings and tunic he was wearing, tied at the waist with a leather belt. At least, he thought it was leather. On closer look, it was hard to be sure.

All he needed was a hat, and this stereotyped fantasy cliche would be complete, he thought bitterly. He put a hand to his head and lifted from it a little cap -- a bicocket, with a frond of fern pinned to it. He scowled at it, offended.

What kind of world was he in  _ now? _ He couldn’t tell yet. And with the… grasses? The monocot leaf structure suggested so, except that they were impossibly large… with the  _ grasses _ towering around him, he could make very little of his surroundings.

Ignis huffed with irritation -- but flinched when a sudden buzzing at his back fluttered the hem of his brown tunic. He spun around, but saw nothing but the tall blades of grass surrounding him. He gritted his teeth -- and the buzzing started up again. Something at his back. He peered cautiously over his shoulder.

Light, diaphanous wings, veined like a dragonfly’s, only with fanciful swirls.

Fairy wings.

Connected to his own shoulders.

He was a fairy. He. Was a fairy.

He took a deep breath. “For the love of--”

“Iggy, THERE you are!”

The voice came from above, so Ignis looked up.

Prompto, clad all in green, floated down -- no, not floated; he had wings too, and they were working at an impossible speed. He hovered, like a hummingbird.

“We’ve been looking for you! They’re just about ready to start! Wait… why are you turning red?”

“What?” Ignis snapped.

“Did… did something make you  _ mad?” _ Prompto said, in a soft, horrified tone, and put his hands to his mouth.

Ignis looked down -- and sure enough, his entire outfit (and his skin!) had turned a vivid shade of vermillion. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and took a deep breath -- then released it slowly. He wouldn’t shout at Prompto. He wouldn’t.

“I’ve  _ never _ seen you like this before!” Prompto said in a terrified whisper. “Gladio, yeah, but… Is everything okay?”

Ignis couldn’t lie. He’d already betrayed himself. Somehow. “No,” he said. “But… I’ll be fine.” He hoped. He took another deep breath, and forced himself to unclench his hands. His bright red color faded. Slightly.

“... If you say so,” Prompto said, skeptically. He landed lightly on the ground by Ignis. “So, ah. We were just about to start the Fall Festival opening ceremonies and everyone’s waiting for you to get back. You  _ do  _ have the scepter, right?”

Ignis wondered idly what color panic was.

He couldn’t handle this right now. He  _ couldn’t _ . 

But he had to. He had to say  _ something. _

“I was just going to get it,” he said finally. “Why don’t you…”

“Help you?” Prompto said, clasping his hands together eagerly.

“Ah, no, I should be fine. Just… go back and tell them I’m coming. And I’ll be there shortly.”

“...Okay,” Prompto said, deflated. “But you’d better get your happy thoughts together, or you’re not gonna be able to fly anywhere and it’s gonna take forever to get back.” Then he took off, lost almost immediately in the sea of tall grass.

Ignis sighed. Happy thoughts… Of course. Like some child’s fairy story.

This was not good. He turned away from the direction Prompto flew off in, and stalked through the grass. The part of his mind that wasn’t occupied with being infuriated was fascinated at his new perspective on the world. He’d never had a rodent’s view of grass before, and it was surprising to him how much room there was between clumps -- enough for him to move freely, at least. He stalked through with barely a thought for where he was going.

He wanted to avoid everyone else. He didn’t want to get involved. He didn’t want to be sympathetic or pretend to be fine. Whatever celebration they were having, they would have to handle it  _ without him. _ He had no idea where this… scepter?... could be, nor did he have any idea how or where to look for it. He just wanted  _ out. _

But he had no way to summon Ardyn. He’d tried that last time, to a point… and Ardyn had  _ still _ left him there far too long. 

So he walked.

He had no idea how to use his wings, anyway, and if -- like the fairy story he remembered -- his flight was powered by “happy thoughts”, well… right now  _ he had none. _

The shock of arriving in this world was fading, and he was left to think about what he’d learned. If Ardyn’s admission in the last world was accurate, he was sending Ignis to all these different realities to prevent him from using the Ring of the Lucii. What made that important? Ignis knew the risks of using the Ring -- had heard the story of the Glaive who had tried, and died even while waking the Old Wall and helping Luna escape Insomnia.

But if using the Ring was a danger to anyone not of the Lucis Caellum line, what did Ardyn have to fear from  _ Ignis _ using it?

Somehow he’d have to figure that out. If it was possible to get Ardyn to admit  _ anything. _ The man was infuriatingly good at evasion.

“Ignis!!” 

Ignis stopped in his tracks and looked up -- just in time for someone to tackle him from behind with enough velocity that they both hit the ground and rolled. They came to a stop with Ignis underneath. His spectacles had fallen from his face somewhere, but he couldn’t look for them until whoever was sitting on him let him up. 

“Ooof,” they said. “Sorry, Specs!”

Noctis. 

The weight on Ignis’s back lifted as Noctis rolled off to one side and stood, then put out a hand to help Ignis to his feet. Then Noctis peered at the ground and stooped -- and handed Ignis a contraption made of round glass lenses set in… leather?  _ This _ was what he wore for glasses in this world? They’d been too close to his eyes for him to properly see how different they were. He looped them over his ears. At least they worked as they were meant to, regardless of how they looked.

And now he got a proper look at the prince; dressed all in black, as usual, but a belted tunic, leggings, and pointed boots. He had his own set of delicate wings -- and ears that came to an elegant point peeked out through his ruffled black hair. Ignis tried not to stare.

“Dunno why you wear those,” Noctis was saying. “You don’t really need them.”

“I  _ like  _ to see the world with perfect clarity, Noct,” Ignis retorted -- and now Noctis was miming him with one hand. He stiffened.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Noct said, “You say that all the time, and hey, Prompto said you were looking for the scepter, so where is it? We kinda need it, like, right now.”

And Ignis… couldn’t say anything. He had no idea.

Noctis put his hands on his hips and squinted at him. “You didn’t  _ lose  _ it, did you?” 

“...No!” Ignis blurted. He would  _ never  _ lose something important. He just… had no idea what this scepter was, or where it could possibly be.

“Then why are you wandering around out  _ here _ instead of heading to the workshop to  _ get  _ it?” 

“Er…” Ignis knew he needed to give Noctis an answer, but he had no idea what to say.

“Hey!” 

Noctis and Ignis both looked up. Gladio was descending -- Gladio, with fairy wings. (In another lifetime, Ignis would have probably belly-laughed at the mere suggestion. Now, he just wondered how in Shiva’s icy heaven they held him up.) 

Gladio landed lightly beside them and scowled at them both. “Sometime this  _ lifetime _ would be nice,” Gladio said. “The fairies from Tenebrae are waiting -- and that Ravus guy is not looking too impressed.”

Ravus. Naturally. 

Then a massive shadow fell over them. Gladio and Noctis looked up and flinched -- and Noctis actually yelled  _ “Pirate!”  _ before they both winged away, leaving a yellow glowing trail behind them. 

Ignis sprinted after them on foot, grumbling to himself -- until a heavy boot crushed the grass in front of him. A very large, steel-trimmed boot that looked incredibly familiar, but also impossibly huge. He stumbled to a stop just before he ran into it. His eyes followed it up. And up, and up… and in the impossible heights, he reached Ardyn’s face. Which smiled down at him with gleeful amusement.

Ignis backed away, but just before he could outright flee, Ardyn stooped down and plunked his fedora over the top of him. With one giant hand, Ardyn scooped underneath and trapped Ignis inside. Then disorientingly, he tipped the hat over so Ignis was neatly cupped within the crown.

… It smelled like scalp.  _ Ardyn’s scalp _ was not a smell Ignis had ever desired to become acquainted with. 

Ignis pushed against the soft side, tried to jump to get a grip on the brim to pull himself out under Ardyn’s hand, but it was no use… he was well and truly captured.

Ardyn lifted his fingers to peer inside. “What have we here,” he mused.

“Let me out at  _ once! _ ” Ignis insisted.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Ardyn said, “But in your current state, I can’t hear anything you say. So I’ll just have to assume… you’re demanding that I release you. Am I right?”

Ignis scowled at him.

“And the next thing you want to say is, ‘Take me back to Noctis.’” That last bit, Ardyn said in a mocking high-pitched whine.

“I  _ don’t _ talk that way, thank you very much,” Ignis said indignantly. Not that it did any good.

“It’s a shame I can’t hear a word you’re saying,” Ardyn said. “Just the tinkling of bells. How adorable.”

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Ignis said. “Where did this world even  _ come _ from? What does it have to do with  _ anything? _ AND WHY AM I A FAIRY.”

“That shade of red is  _ so becoming _ on you,” Ardyn said, and Ignis barely restrained himself from screaming. “Well,” Ardyn continued, “it’s a shame you can’t tell me how much you just  _ adore _ this world and would like to  _ stay…” _

Ignis had so many things he wanted to say, but it was useless. Ardyn couldn’t hear him -- and would likely refuse to answer, in any case. Ignis folded his arms and scowled.

“Aww, don’t look at me like that.” 

And then something dove at Ardyn’s head. He yelped, ducked -- and dropped his hat. 

Ignis had a disorienting moment of freefall -- and even though he could feel his wings fluttering, it wasn’t enough to carry him. He was missing something crucial. But before he could come to terms with his fall, something caught the corners of the hat and instead of hitting the ground, Ignis landed firmly in the soft crown of the hat instead. 

“Gotcha!” said Prompto, gripping one side of the hat’s brim and fluttering his wings for all he was worth. 

From the other edge of the brim, Noctis said, “Don’t worry, Specs, Gladio’ll take care of that pirate.” 

Indeed, Ignis looked up to see the most uncanny image of Gladio tugging at one of Ardyn’s maroon locks -- and Ardyn, wincing, and swatting at Gladio -- who dodged neatly, but still managed to keep hold of Ardyn’s hair. 

Until Ardyn managed to hit him -- and then he went flying. “Don’t think you can escape  _ this,”  _ Ardyn growled, and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve ever wondered what you call a Peter-Pan-style Hat… >_> Ignis knows.
> 
> Would this be considered a “Crossover”? Since it’s pretty loosely (but nearly completely) derived from the Tinkerbell movies… (And of COURSE the fairies would mistake Ardyn for a pirate. I mean, look at how he’s dressed.) I've never written a crossover before, so. I may have to try again sometime...


	15. Lingering in the Scent of Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis is no florist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again with a chapter! Unfortunately, I'm still having to take a couple weeks between posting (for my own peace of mind, because Real Life is super busy right now and this is helping me keep on top of the story). 
> 
> You may or may not notice that this fic is now part of a series...! I set it up so I can add one-shots and other related works based on AUs featured in Cracked. >:) The first installment in my exploration of AUs is up: [Drowning in Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292241), based off of Chapter 13 -- the hanahaki chapter. There will be more of these in time.

Ignis blinked… and he was standing at a counter, surrounded by flowers. 

He took a deep breath that filled his sinuses with a heavy aroma of mixed floral scents. Around his feet were clustered barrels full of cut lilies, carnations, roses, and dozens of other brilliant flowers -- and others full of ferns and other greenery. On the table in front of him sat an arrangement. A nice one, he supposed; he’d never been into flower arranging. But this one was elegant and refined. A tall, slender, cut-crystal vase with three spears of gladioli, a frond of fern, a handful of long, thin grass-like leaves around it, and some… baby’s breath, he thought.

He looked around. The place looked empty, other than the flowers. The room was  _ cold _ \-- kept that way too preserve the flowers, he supposed. And he was, again, in a collared shirt and khakis, with a nametag proclaiming IGNIS on his chest pocket. A sheet of paper on the table in front of him -- that must be the order. He scanned it… The logo at the top said “Scientia Flowers”. The order itself was a small floral setting for one G. Amicitia. Who would be picking it up in -- Ignis glanced at the phone in his pocket -- two hours’ time. 

More orders sat on the right side of the table in a neat quarter-inch-thick stack. 

Ignis was no florist. How he was to even pretend to do  _ this _ job, he had no idea. But… the store seemed empty for now; the order in front of him finished. There were more orders, but surely… surely he could take a moment. He shifted the vase of flowers to the corner of the table and set the written order beside it, and then leaned against the table and sighed. 

Traveling to different worlds was exhausting. Hopping from one confusing situation to the next was disorienting, and he’d only had a chance to truly rest in one of the worlds so far. He was grateful even for a bare moment’s reprieve. Hopefully he would have some time to think. If Ardyn let him. He had more to think about.

Ardyn wanted to interfere with Ignis using the Ring… And Ardyn had mentioned the Chosen King’s destiny, but would say nothing more. From the way Ardyn spoke of it, Noct’s destiny was more than just saving the star and purging the Starscourge. And it was something Ardyn seemed to think Ignis might think twice about, if he knew the full extent of what it entailed.

Ignis had extremely limited resources.  _ Finding _ anything to carry with him, to help him in other worlds, would be… challenging. And as far as he could tell, he was jumping from body to body, carrying nothing with him between worlds -- not even his clothes. To make matters worse, Ardyn appeared to be able to watch his every move. Ardyn somehow  _ knew  _ what Ignis was doing and experiencing in each world. Hiding things from him might prove difficult.

The front door opened, with a tinkling bell. 

“I’ll be right there,” he called, automatically. 

Perhaps this would be a world where the reflexes of  _ this world’s  _ Ignis would actually  _ work. _ He wiped his hands on his apron and headed to the front counter. 

Aranea stood there. 

Not Commodore Highwind, in her dragoon armor;  _ Aranea _ , in dark blue jeans and a fitted, fur-trimmed, rose-colored parka. She was looking at what Ignis assumed was a pricing brochure on the counter. 

For a moment Ignis could only blink at her. Then he remembered where he was. He approached the counter and pulled an order form from the shelf underneath.

“Welcome,” he said. 

And then Aranea looked up and smiled at him. “Hey,” she said. “I wanna get a little something for a couple coworkers of mine… something like this.” And she pointed to a simple carnation arrangement in the brochure. 

“Excellent,” Ignis said, and jotted something down on the order sheet -- some shorthand that came automatically but he didn’t really understand. “Any particular color?”

“Mmm… pink, I think.”

Ignis jotted more down, filling out the order form with automatic ease that he was intensely grateful for. He took more notes as Aranea gave them, noted the timeframe she wanted. Then he rang up the order on the tablet mounted to his counter, and quickly completed the transaction. “I’ll have that ready for pick-up at four thirty,” he finished.

“Great,” she said. “Mind if I… look around a little?” 

“Not at all,” Ignis said. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.” Then he turned to take the order to the back room. He paused on the threshold and glanced back… to catch Aranea eyeing him. She quickly turned away, but not soon enough to hide a blush. 

Ignis swallowed and fled. 

He… and Aranea? He supposed it wasn’t inconceivable, but… It was inconceivable.

He set the order form on the table, ready for him to handle when he didn’t have a customer out front. He wondered idly if this business of his was a sole proprietorship; if he had any employees. He wasn’t sure he wanted to loiter in the front of the store if Aranea was going to oggle him the whole time he was out there. The idea was distinctly uncomfortable. 

Then the door opened again, making the bell jangle. 

“Sorry, Mr. Scientia! Sorry!”

Prompto rushed in, skirted around the counter and stood before Ignis, breathless and sweating. 

Ignis masked his shock by raising an eyebrow at him.

Prompto blanched. “I meant to get back sooner, but the traffic… and that thing was  _ heavy. _ I don’t think I should deliver anything that heavy on a bike anymore. And…” He continued rambling excuses about everything that had prevented him from returning in a timely manner -- which didn’t matter to Ignis, since he didn’t know what Prompto had been sent to deliver, nor when he’d been expected to return. 

Finally Ignis waved a hand. “Just man the front desk, please, while I attend to things back here.”

Prompto gave him a shaky half-smile. “Y… yeah! Thanks!” And he headed out front. Ignis heard him giving Aranea a chipper greeting, and her more subdued answer. Then he turned to the table surrounded by flowers and leaned against it, keeping one ear open for activity in the lobby.

Ignis couldn’t truly focus with a customer here, or with Prompto hovering around, expecting to be given tasks. He had to think things through, and he couldn’t let anything distract him. So instead, he focused on the orders. He flipped through them, but most of his meticulous notes and shorthand were meaningless. And this wasn’t what he wanted to be doing. He needed an office. With a door.

He glanced around.  _ There… _ in the back corner, a door slightly ajar; a desk with a computer only just visible.

He heard Aranea say something, and then Prompto’s cheerful farewell, and then the bell jingled and he heard the door shut again. He sighed. 

“Heya… what’s next?”  

Ignis looked up at Prompto, who hesitated in the doorway to the back room. Ignis looked at the stack of orders in his hand. Then he handed them to Prompto. “Look through these and see if there’s anything you’re comfortable making. I… have some things to attend to in the office.”

Prompto’s eyes went wide. “R… really?” He took the stack, breaking into a bright smile. “You… you really want to give me a chance?” 

Inwardly, Ignis groaned. He wondered what kind of trouble he’d just set up for  _ this _ world’s Ignis… but  _ he _ trusted Prompto’s creative eye. “Certainly,” he said. But he decided to add a caution… “Keep to the simple things, mind. And listen for the door.” 

“Sure thing, Mr. Scientia!” His sunny smile was infectious, and Ignis couldn’t help smiling in return.

“I’ll be out soon,” he said, and strode quickly to the office and shut himself in. 

Once inside, Ignis sank into the office chair, pressed his fingers into his temples, and sighed. There were too many thoughts swirling in his head, and he couldn’t make sense of them all. He wanted to write them down, and hopefully he would be able to make some sense of them from there. 

If only he could risk taking some notes... He wasn’t sure if Ardyn would pay attention to that -- would maybe be able to read what he wrote. Then he deflated. He wouldn’t be able to take any notes with him to subsequent worlds, anyway, because  _ nothing _ came with him. He wondered if he’d even thought to store a notebook in the armiger, anyway. His usual notebook was usually tucked away in his pocket. 

Then he held his breath.  _ The armiger. _ He’d maintained access to it all along -- but was it the same in each world? Was it tied to his  _ mind _ , his  _ spirit, _ rather than his body? All the weapons he’d used had felt normal in his hands -- comfortable. But he didn’t know if that was because his weapons were the same in all the worlds, or if it’s because they were  _ his weapons. _

With tense curiosity and tenuous hope, he opened his mind to that ethereal, in-between space -- that place he had access to thanks to Noct’s magic. It yawned open for him in his mind. He opened a hand and ran fingers over the hilts of knives, the shafts of polearms… there.  _ There. _ A notebook.

But before he could perform that mental pull that would draw it into real space, he noticed something else… a smattering of objects he didn’t think belonged. They didn’t seem familiar, and they were lumped together in an untidy heap -- something he didn’t usually allow, even in this ethereal space. He reached for them and pulled. 

Onto the computer desk dropped a jumble of things. It didn’t make any sense at first, and then he started rummaging through the pile. 

A silk napkin -- black, with gold meanders embroidered around the edge.

A soiled pair of his gloves, and a dirty jacket. 

A pile of fabric -- a shredded shirt, torn khakis, a leather belt with sharp tooth marks imprinted in it.

A quartet of white-and-tan-barred primary feathers -- two of them trimmed -- longer than his arm.

A crumpled tissue -- which, when he unwrapped it, revealed several sylleblossom petals and a half-bloomed flower, still damp with Prompto’s saliva. 

Ignis stared at them all in surprise. Then he slowly smiled.

A timid knock at the office door startled him. He hastily shoved the pile of things back into the armiger in a flash. “Yes?” he called.

“Um… Mr. Scientia?” Prompto sounded nervous. “There’s someone at the front asking for you.”

“Tell them I’ll be right there,” Ignis said, and did some quick thinking. He could put things in the armiger to take them between worlds, but he still needed to figure out how to put that to use. It was but one tool, and not yet a plan. Still, it was something -- more than he’d had up to this point -- and he intended to use it. As soon as he figured out how.

Ignis tried to tamp down the excitement he felt and left the office. He passed Prompto in the cold room, and there was some quality to Prompto’s wide eyes and worried expression that made Ignis wary… so when he stepped out into the main shop, he was not as surprised as he might have been. 

Ardyn stood there. And he did not look particularly happy. 

“I hope,” he said slowly, “that I will not be accosted by fairies in  _ this _ world.” 

“You tell me,” Ignis snapped. “You’re the one driving this particular train.”

Ardyn brushed the front of his vest with his hands. “I suppose I deserved that.”

_ And more, _ Ignis thought, but he said nothing.

Ardyn glanced around the shop. “Well, this certainly looks pleasant. What do you think of this world?”

“I think that I am no florist, and I cannot fill my duty to Noct if I stay here.”

“Always your duty.” Ardyn sighed. “If you were not such a slave to it, perhaps this adventure would be much easier for you.”

“Adventure?” Ignis countered. “This is a  _ distraction. _ What is it you  _ really  _ want?”

“What do  _ I  _ want?” Ardyn leaned in. “I told you in the beginning. There are so many options for you to choose from -- so many more pleasant worlds than the one you know.” He gestured around to flowers and greenery lining the shelves. Then he peered at Ignis. “I am showing you possibilities. And I  _ do _ hope that you make a decision soon.” 

“There  _ is _ no choice,” Ignis said. “Take me to Noctis  _ now!” _

Annoyance flashed across Ardyn’s face -- and then he smiled, broad and slow. “Very well,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, flower shop AUs are usually about The Romance but Ignis is _too busy to think about that, thank you_...


	16. With You, Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis is forced to imagine growing up without a prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as funny this time, but we'll get back to the funny. :)
> 
> My busy month is over, but I'm going to stick to the two-week posting schedule for the time being, to give myself the chance to catch up. I'll be less stressed that way.

Ignis blinked -- and found himself staring at Noctis. A furious, wheelchair-bound Noctis, who returned his stare with a wary, belligerent glare of his own.

“I don't know who you guys are, but you'd better get off my case!” he was saying.

“We’re not _on your case,_ ” came Gladio’s irritated voice, and Ignis glanced to his left, where the Shield stood, arms folded over his chest.

His side-eye to Ignis all but yelled _‘c’mon, help out here’_ but Ignis was at a complete loss. He had no idea what to say… and he hesitated just long enough that Noctis grabbed the wheels of what was clearly not a temporary or inexpensive chair -- it was a lifestyle model, designed for everyday use. And Noctis was clearly adept with it. He backwheeled, his leather gloves squeaking against the metal. “Catch you later,” he breathed, and was gone, working his way as quickly as he could through the crowd in the oppressive heat of Lestallum.

“What the hell, Iggy,” Gladio said. “I thought you were gonna do the shpiel.”

“Sorry,” Ignis said. “I don’t… know what happened there.” At least, he couldn’t explain it. Gladio wouldn’t understand -- and Ardyn wouldn’t approve.

“I know you haven’t seen him since you were, what, nine? But we have a job to do. If you’re gonna get all starry-eyed and tongue-tied when you see him, we’ve gotta come up with a better plan.”

Ignis sighed. He didn’t feel like he could ask for an explanation, but he couldn’t keep going without more information. He was quick enough on the uptake, though. While Noctis didn’t know _them_ , they were clearly looking for _him._ Gladio’s ‘you haven’t seen him in years’ was definitely concerning… and the wheelchair. “Let’s… fall back and review what we know,” he finally said.

Gladio growled. “We’ve done that so much we’ve worn out the _file,”_ he said.

So there was a file. “Please, Gladio,” he said. “I just want to review it again.”

Gladio rolled his eyes, but thankfully, he relented -- stomped off, rather -- and led the way back to the hotel room. Ignis wouldn’t have known where to go, and was glad he didn’t need to ask. Once there, Gladio tossed a folder at him with a quick “Have at.”

Ignis caught it deftly -- it was black, embossed on the cover with the emblem of Lucis -- and sat at the hotel room’s inadequate table to leaf through it. The folder’s corners were indeed worn, the pages inside dog-eared and turning soft from handling.

And inside it… amateur candid photos of Noctis, in various locations throughout Cleigne and Duscae. Always in a chair of some kind, wheeled or not. A timetable listing “confirmed sightings” and another with “suspected sightings”. In the back of the stack, an official Crownsguard Incident report. He scanned it quickly, taking in everything he could.

The date was a familiar one: the Marilith attack. Ignis had memorized all the finer points of _that_ report -- but this was different. This report had one crucial additional detail that left him cold: after the attack, Noctis was nowhere to be found. From the way the attackers had pulled back after the Marilith was subdued, it was assumed that Noctis had been kidnapped -- by the Empire, though it looked like the evidence was not concrete, and according to the report, the Empire steadfastly denied their involvement.

The first grainy photo was of a child Noctis in a wheelchair, accompanied by another child, in a wide field. The photo was taken at such a distance that he only just recognized Noct’s dark hair -- the cut he’d worn when he was young. On the back, it had ‘unconfirmed’ written in a tight script.

The second was a photo of a slightly-older Noctis, accompanied by a nondescript man in the Lestallum market. There were photos of Noctis in Duscae and around Lestallum -- some clearer than others -- but more in the southern Cleigne region.

With every photo, Ignis grew more distressed.

This… _this_ Noctis had been kidnapped as a child, had not been raised a prince. This was a world where Ignis would have grown up with a purpose that was lost to him. Learning and growing, but without direction.

Without _Noct._

He shuddered, then shook his head. No, he _couldn’t_ get attached; he just had to make it through until Ardyn showed up and spirited him away yet again. He just had to manage that much. He couldn’t get attached and distracted from his purpose. He needed to think about how he could use the armiger to his advantage between worlds.

Still, he read the dossier again. And again, and again. And each time he imagined what life must have been like for Noctis -- and for himself.

 _This_ Noctis had clearly not benefited from the healing power of the Oracle. He had never regained the use of his legs, and had to rely on his wheelchair.

“So?” Gladio said in a bored tone, interrupting Ignis’s thoughts. “Find anything new?”

He’d found _a lot_ that was new. “Hmmm,” he said, trying to stall. He didn’t want to tip Gladio off that he was utterly clueless. But he needed more information. “No,” he said finally. “Let’s go over whatever else we know.”

Gladio sighed. “Okay,” he said skeptically. Then he started ticking points off on his fingers. “That Crownsguard on leave caught a glimpse of him about five months ago and did some digging. That’s where our first picture came from.”

Ignis flipped through to the one in question -- a surprisingly clear photo of Noct’s face in the crowd at some festival in Lestallum. He looked happy. Like he was enjoying himself.

“He’s lived here in Lestallum for several years,” Gladio continued in a sing-song bored tone. “He has a desk job at a publishing company, he keeps a little apartment with a roommate. Once the Crownsguard was on it, they got a bit of background on him. They traced him to an orphanage in Cleigne.”

“Surely the _Empire_ wouldn’t have abandoned such a valuable hostage,” Ignis mused.

Gladio rolled his eyes so hard Ignis thought he might have been able to hear it, if he’d listened. They must have discussed this before. “Inside job, right? Had to have been. Someone broke him out. Someone who didn’t feel like they needed to get him back to _us.”_ Gladio went back to ticking off points. “Adopted by a family out there, brought up with a handful of other adopted siblings… We tracked him down on the street, but he doesn’t recognize either of us, which is no surprise because it’s been twelve years. And from the couple times we’ve talked to him, he must have some form of amnesia, because he doesn’t remember Insomnia at all. Even though he was eight when he was taken.” He turned to the hotel room’s mini-fridge and rummaged inside.

“Thanks, Gladio,” Ignis said, and tried to sound as sarcastic as he thought Gladio’s bored response should make him feel.

“He’s getting impatient with us, too,” Gladio added as he cracked open a beer, “so we should probably watch ourselves unless we want a restraining order against us.” He took a deep swig.

“That sounds pretty wise,” Ignis said.

“So, brainiac?” Gladio said, and set the beer down on the table with a clack.

Ignis sighed. “No need for that,” he said. “This is a delicate situation and we should definitely proceed with caution.”

“Ya think?” Gladio snapped. “Got any other brilliant ideas?”

Ignis tried not to respond to Gladio’s irritation with frustration of his own. He thought for a minute. This needed some delicacy. Gladio wasn’t going to have patience for the leading questions he wanted to ask, but he might be able to manage a couple. “We’ve run into him how many times?”

“Three,” Gladio provided.

“And we spoke to him...”

“Twice.” Then Gladio squinted at him. “What is your _deal_ today? I thought you had all this stuff memorized and catalogued in that brain of yours.”

Ignis suppressed a sigh. Gladio hit his limit far too quickly. “I’m just trying to look at everything from different angles,” he improvised. “I want to make sure there is nothing we’ve missed.”

“You’ve been obsessing about this trip for _months,_ Ignis -- _more_ than that. I can’t imagine there’d be anything _you_ would have missed.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ignis muttered under his breath.

There was a knock at the door. Gladio jerked towards it in surprise. He looked back at Ignis. “We expecting anyone?”

Ignis shook his head. He certainly wouldn’t have been aware if they _were,_ anyway. Gladio opened the door.

Noctis was on the other side.

They all stared at one another for several heartbeats before Noctis said, “Well? You gonna invite me in, or what?”

Ignis stood in a rush. “Please,” he said, and quickly adjusted the furniture to allow the wheelchair room.

Noctis wheeled himself in and maneuvered his chair to face them. Gladio still leaned against the wall, and Ignis sat on the edge of the nearest bed and studied Noctis.

He looked much the same as the prince Ignis knew. His hair was even mostly the same. His face was carefully blank -- suspicious. He glanced between the two of them for a moment before saying “Who are you? And why are you following me?”

“I’d say _you_ followed _us,_ seeing as how we never told you where we were staying,” Gladio grumbled.

Noctis had the grace to look a little sheepish at this, but he said nothing.

Silence fell again, and Gladio gave Ignis a hard look.

He grit his teeth. Ordinarily this kind of negotiation would fall to him by default, but he suspected he would foul it up this time. He had too little of the right information. He wasn’t the Ignis who was separated from his prince at a young age, the one who grew up learning strategy and tactics without knowing if his learning would ever be put to use.

With a sudden rush, Ignis realized that his counterpart in this world had probably never even _tried_ to make a Tenebraean tart, because _this_ Noctis didn’t visit the Oracle for healing during his recovery. Never came back to talk endlessly about the special dessert he longed for and couldn’t forget.

This Noctis had never returned to Insomnia to grow into the Prince Ignis knew.

Ignis couldn’t speak, with the sudden lump in his throat. He swallowed against it, but stayed silent.

Gladio gave him a side-eye that meant they were going to do some serious talking later. Then he sighed. “Your name is Noctis, right?”

“Yeah?”

“You were born twenty years ago?”

“Yeah, so?”

“The King of Lucis’s lost son would have been about your same age.”

Noctis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and everybody named their _dogs_ Noctis for years and years, that doesn’t mean anything.”

Ignis thought that reaction a little odd, unless… He cleared his throat and ventured, “People have made the comparison before, then.”

“Yeah. Like, anyone with black hair who’s named Noctis has gotta be blood royal. Life just… doesn’t work that way.” Noctis’s voice trailed off, touched with some unspoken bitterness.

Ignis pursed his lips and shared a look with Gladio.

Noctis glanced between them for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Look,” he said, “you seem like nice guys. But I can’t be… who you say I am. It’s just impossible. I mean, look at me. Who’d want a prince that can’t even walk? They need a warrior, not… someone like me.”

“Someone like you? What do you mean by that?” Gladio said.

“The qualities that make you prince,” Ignis added, “have nothing to do with whether or not you can walk and _everything_ to do with inheriting the magic of the line of Lucis.”

From his expression, Noctis must have thought that was balderdash. “Okay,” he said, “who are you guys _really?”_

“I am Ignis Scientia,” Ignis said, “And my house has served the Lucis Caelums for generations.”

“I am Gladiolus Amicitia,” Gladio said. “And… yeah. Same.”

Noct’s eyes went wide. “But… but…”

“Glad to know you recognise the names, at least,” Gladio grumbled.

“But why did you come to me?”

“Because you’re the prince,” Gladio said. “Here…” and he pulled a photo from the back of the black folder. An older photo of Regis, with his companions on their first journey out of Insomnia. Young Regis, naturally, bore a striking resemblance to his son.

Noct’s eyes widened as he slowly took the photo from Gladio’s hand. “Who…?”

“That’s King Regis,” Gladio said. “When he was your age.”

“I… I can’t believe it,” Noctis said in a voice so soft Ignis could barely hear it. “So… you came out here, looking for me because I kind of resemble the King. But… they could have sent anybody. Why’d they send guys like you?”

“Who else _would_ they send?” Gladio muttered. Noctis gave him a puzzled look, and he scowled. “We’re your retainers, Noct.”

“Retainers?” Noctis laughed. “Seriously? What makes you guys retainers? And why do you look like you’re about to cry every time you look at me?” He flung a hand Ignis’s direction.

Ignis flinched. He might not be _this world’s_ Ignis, but this at least he could answer. “Because I was supposed to grow up with you,” he said, his voice low. “We were supposed to know each other -- trust each other. But you were stolen away. And now… Now I'll never have that chance. To grow up together. To sneak up to the citadel roof at night and watch the stars together. To see you feed stray cats and learn to love fishing.” Just thinking of the memories he had with Noctis -- things that _this_ Ignis never had a chance to do -- his eyes prickled with tears, and his breath hitched. “You’ll never trust me as you should have. Never rely on me as you were meant to.”

He brushed the tears away -- and met Noctis’s wide eyes.

“How--?” Noct’s eyes searched his face, and then turned to Gladio. “How much spying have you been _doing?_ ”

Gladio returned his look in confusion. “Just enough to get an idea of where you live, really,” he finally answered, and sent a questioning look at Ignis.

“Okay, okay, okay…” Noctis said, waving his hands. “Look, I… I’ll come along, but -- give me some time to wrap things up here. I kinda got a life and a job and stuff; I can’t just skip out. They’d never believe me.”

“That’s fair,” Gladio said.

“Take the time you need,” Ignis added, still dabbing at his eyes.

“I mean, not that I think you guys are right, or anything… Whatever DNA test you give me, it’s gonna probably show I’m just some farm kid from Cleigne, like the rest of my family. We might all be adopted, but we can’t all be royalty.”

“Surely not,” Ignis scoffed.

“Just have to ask,” Gladio said. “You were pretty sure before that you didn’t wanna have anything to do with us. What changed your mind?”

Noctis gestured at Ignis. “Him.”

Ignis silently, questioningly, pointed at himself.

“The look on his face when he saw me. Like he was seeing a long-lost brother. Not something you can fake easily.”

 _Don’t get attached, don’t get attached…_  But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help feeling for Noctis -- for this Gladio, whose purpose had been stolen; for this Ignis, whose childhood had ended up lonely and bereft.

Ignis couldn’t help the tears that started up again -- and once they did, he couldn’t help sniffling.

“Excuse me,” Ignis said, and fled to the bathroom.

Once there, he straightaway pulled tissues from the hotel-provided box and tried to control his emotions. It was no use. The thought of Noctis, so lost and separated from everyone who loved him… eight was a young age, and even if Noctis had remembered his past, it would have faded from his memory over time. And the trauma of the attack, of being torn from his family, could easily have been such that--

“Oh my.”

Ignis blinked the moisture from his eyes to see Ardyn, leaning against the towel rack.

Of _course_ Ardyn would show up now. And since Ignis was already weeping, his tears changed from sorrow to frustration.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Ardyn said, his smarmy grin inching wider.

“There is _no_ good time for you,” Ignis spat, his voice rough.

Ardyn pushed away from the wall. “Then perhaps I should--”

“No! No, I have to get out of here.” Ignis only just stopped himself from reaching out.

“Oh?” Ardyn tilted his head. “And what, pray tell, makes it so urgent this time?”

Ignis barely bit back his response. He couldn’t let on to his weakness, that he would consider staying to _help Noctis._ Instead, he blurted out, “What kind of world _is_ this?”

“I’ve told you before… this is simply one of many possibilities. Perhaps your childhood would have been easier, thus. Perhaps _his_ was easier, not raised under the burden of royalty. Not watching his father’s life slowly drained away by the power of the Lucii. Growing up without the constant training and tutoring, growing up… as a simple, ordinary boy.”

“No,” Ignis breathed.

“And now you’d have an opportunity to get to know him all over again. Oh, but his journey might be much more difficult, considering his… physical challenges. Wielding a sword, fighting monsters and daemons… Perhaps he would need to lean more on your strength.”

Ignis felt a sudden tug of sympathy -- a rush of anxiety. He… he wanted to help this Noctis. But that would mean...

No, no… Ignis wouldn’t fall for this. He _couldn’t._

“Never,” he said with more conviction. “Take me back now.”

Ardyn’s smile took a slow downward turn. “Indeed,” he said. “Well, not just yet.” He snapped his fingers.


	17. A Different Role

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis gets a taste of the prince's life... and it's not what he's looking for.

Ignis blinked and shot up in bed, gasping.

The first mortifying world Ardyn sent him to rushed to his memory, and the sudden wave of familiarity filled the pit of his stomach with dread. He clutched the comforter to his chest -- but a quick inspection assured him that, other than himself, the bed was blessedly empty. And he was clothed, thank the Astrals.

In silk pyjamas, no less. In a bed far nicer than any he was accustomed to sleeping in. The linens were similar in quality to Noct’s at the Citadel, in fact.

And the room…

From the crown moulding around the ceiling, the quality of the light fixtures, the sheer size of it… A door to the side gave him a glimpse into a naturally-lit ensuite bathroom that his whole apartment at home might fit in.

These… could be Noct’s rooms. _What was he doing here?_

The door opened, and Gladio stepped in. Gladio… dressed in a smart button-up and slacks. “Rise and shine, Highness!” he said, and walked over to the windows and turned the blinds. Sunlight streamed in.

Ignis squinted in the sudden light -- but was more mentally stuck on what Gladio had said. _Highness?_

Gladio noticed his confusion immediately and peered at him. “You okay?”

“I… think so,” Ignis managed. “I’m just… a little disoriented.”

Gladio looked skeptical, and continued to eye him as he stood. “Morning can do that to a person,” he said finally. “You’d better get ready. There’s a meeting that you have to go to. Remember? You might wanna let that buddy of yours know you’re skipping class for royal things so he doesn’t blow your phone up with messages in the middle of the council reports.”

“... _Buddy?”_

“Yeah, that Nox or whatever his name is,” Gladio said. “One of these days you should bring him around for a tour. I think his background check got cleared yesterday. Oh, yeah… and Prompto said to be on time for training today or he’ll bust your chops.”

_“Prompto?”_

“If you’re late, it’ll be _my_ fault, so don’t let me down, or _I’ll_ bust your chops. And don’t think I won’t.”

There was too much for Ignis to process, so he fled to the bathroom.

The luxury bathroom, exactly like Noct’s at the Citadel. Jetted tub, walk-in shower with a rain-simulating shower head, huge vanity, mirrors to the ceiling. Already supplied with towels and a fine bathrobe, and… was that a suit set out for him already? On a fancy butler rack.

Ignis conducted his morning ablutions in slow bewilderment. He took long enough that Gladio finally pounded on the door.

“You ready, or do I need to come in there?”

“I'll be right out,” Ignis called, then finished buttoning up his shirt. He slung the tie around his neck, grabbed the suit jacket, and left the bathroom to find Gladio in the room's small kitchen, an apron on over his button-up, with a mug of coffee and a plate full of finger food on the counter. Ignis slung the jacket over the back of a chair and with a practiced flourish, whipped the tie into a tidy half-Fenestala knot.

As he ran a palm down the tie to flatten it to his chest, Gladio looked him up and down. “Well, look at you,” he said. “You cleaned up nice this morning.”

Ignis hesitated. “Don’t I always?”

“I guess you do when it suits you,” Gladio said with skepticism. “Got some kind of agenda today?”

“Certainly not.” Ignis selected some spears of pear and slices of pleasantly-sharp cheddar and took a sip of the coffee.

“I really shouldn’t be letting you drink that,” Gladio said. “I regret helping you develop a taste for it.”

After eating, Ignis followed Gladio to the meeting, and sat in the prince’s customary spot in perplexed bewilderment. The major question on his mind -- “If I’m the prince, who is the king?” -- remained unanswered, as the King himself was not in attendance. Ignis couldn't very well _ask._ The councilmen were as dry as ever, and made several snide comments about the prince consenting to join them on a school morning. Ignis stopped wondering how he should feel about that when Gladio’s face darkened. Gladio said nothing, but scribbled notes on the legal pad in front of him.

Then Ignis’s phone chimed. And again.

Gladio leaned over to him and whispered, “I thought I told you to text him. And silence your phone.”

Ignis stammered an apology and fumbled his phone from his pocket. He started to silence it when a second string of text notifications lit the screen.

 **Night** 8:15am >> where u at  
**Night** 8:16am >> you leavin me to take this history exam alone  
**Night** 8:16am >> traitor

Ignis tapped the notification to answer, but then the keypad appeared, requesting a passcode. Ignis blinked at it for a heartbeat. He constantly had to remind Noctis to change his passcode weekly, to stymie would-be hackers. He was pretty sure the policy here would be the same… which meant he had no idea what the passcode was. He swallowed and tried one. Then another. Then three more. He could feel Gladio’s sidelong scrutiny all the while, but it was no use… he’d be locked out completely if he attempted too many more. He thumbed the volume off and sighed.

Gladio chuckled. He leaned over and whispered, “Four, six, five, two.”

“... Thanks,” Ignis said, and keyed it in.

Sure enough, his screen unlocked, and (under Gladio’s watchful eye) he quickly thumbed in “sorry, royal meetings this morning” and quickly sent it -- but not before a council member testily said “If his Highness would deign to offer us his _undivided_ attention.”

Ignis’s face burned -- and he was simultaneously irritated. The condescending treatment was completely unnecessary, and he only just caught himself from shooting the council member a glare. Instead, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and pretended to pay attention to the dry, baffling, unavoidable meeting, while at the same time attempting to puzzle out a solution to his own much more urgent problem of how to escape Ardyn's baffling game.

 

* * *

 

Ignis was no closer to a solution by the time the meeting ended -- and once dismissed, he had practically no time to even process the meeting before Gladio shepherded him to the training rooms (still in his suit) and directed him to dress down. This was simply the way the prince’s schedule usually worked, and Ignis _knew_ that. Intimately. He was usually the shepherd, and Noctis the unwilling, grumbling sheep. It felt… odd. To have the tables turned on him like this.

Ignis guessed (correctly) that the locker area set aside for his personal use was the same that Noctis used in his own reality: a dressing room separated from the main locker space by a curtain. It was well-stocked with towels and standard training garb in his size, and Ignis quickly changed and hung his suit in the locker -- less a locker than a full-size closet, for the express reason that the prince’s training often happened between meetings that required formal attire, thus needed better treatment than to be stuffed into a locker-sized space.

Ignis pushed the curtain aside and almost yelped to see Gladio already standing waiting for him.

“You good?” Gladio asked.

“Fine,” he said.

Gladio eyed him. “You’ve been kind of off all morning. I can call Prompto and let him know you need a day. He’ll be pissed, but he’ll just have to deal.”

“No, that’s--” Ignis sighed. “That’s not necessary.”

“If you say so,” Gladio said, and led the way to the hall.  

Ignis followed him -- and when the training room gaped open before him, Prompto already stood in the center, both arms lazily slung over a wooden sword laying across his shoulders. His bare shoulders had traces of a feathered tattoo… like Gladio's, Ignis thought; the beginning stages of it, at least. Prompto was this world’s Amicitia, and the tattoo was proof of his position. Prompto’s stance radiated confidence in a way Ignis had never seen, ever. His half-smile sent shivers up Ignis’s spine. He… he had a Shield’s aura.

“He's all yours,” Gladio said. He smacked Ignis’s shoulder hard enough that Ignis stumbled forward.

“Catch,” Prompto said, and lobbed the wooden sword at him. Ignis only just managed to catch it by the hilt -- but Prompto smiled. “Nice start!” he said.

Prompto, giving him encouragement. A paradigm shift Ignis wasn't quite prepared for.

They started with wooden weapons -- short swords, then great. Ignis had trained in both, but because his focus was daggers and polearms, he hadn't worked on his sword technique in months, and it showed. It didn't help that this teen body hadn't developed the muscles repeated practice gave -- so even when Ignis’s technique was _good,_ his grip was shaky.

Still, when Prompto called a break, he looked pleased and surprised. “Looking good! You've been practicing!”

Ignis stammered.

“Okay, let's see how you do with summoning your Armiger weapons. Have you been practicing that, too?”

“Hasn't had much of a chance,” Gladio said from the sidelines, where he was jotting notes down on a tablet. “One week isn't really enough to get used to it, and his meeting schedule has been tight.”

One week. This princely Ignis had been working with his armiger for a _week._ Ignis mentally reached for his armiger and it was there, his weapons ready and waiting, plus the other miscellanea that he’d stashed there. _He still needed to figure out how to use the armiger to escape Ardyn._ He tried to suppress the feeling of urgency so he could attend to his companions’ discussion.

“... and the king's ready to get us connected to it,” Prompto was saying. “He's not patient.”

“It takes a while to get accustomed to the magic; a couple weeks more won't hurt. We wanna make sure Iggy's ready before we're connected to his arsenal and he has to get used to _that,_ too.”

… They were talking about their access to the Crystal’s magic. _This_ Prompto and Gladio were waiting to be tied to their charge, as Ignis had for Noct. He pondered this until Prompto interrupted his thoughts with an “All right, grab your sword! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Ignis nodded, set his feet in a ready stance, and _pulled_. His daggers fell into his hands, comfortable and familiar.

He realized his mistake at once, when Prompto’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Where did you get _those?”_ Prompto said. “No, I said your _sword!”_

Ignis sent the daggers away in a panic. He watched Prompto and Gladio share a confused look and he panicked more, because he _had_ no swords. He had his daggers and his polearms, but could access nothing else.

“Focus, Igs, you can do it,” Prompto said, all bright encouragement.

Ignis forced his panic down. He’d grown so accustomed to accessing his armiger that it was second nature. He hadn’t needed focusing exercises to access his armiger since his very early days of being connected to it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and _felt._

His armiger was there, ready -- and holding nothing that would help him now. But beyond it… beyond it was something more, something he hadn’t felt before. He reached for it tentatively.

There was nothing tentative about its reaction.

What spread open before him then was ancient and vast and overwhelming. For a moment he thought he’d be lost in it, and he clung desperately to reality -- to the feeling of his feet in the groomed sand. With that anchor to the tangible, he was able to feel it properly… the weight of the Crystal.

Faint, Ignis wondered if this yawning expanse was what Noctis felt when accessing the Crystal’s power. Ignis’s own piece of the armiger was infinitesimal compared to this. Mentally, he explored the boundaries of what was now two connections -- one, his own, with his limited arsenal; and the other, a more direct connection to the Crystal, with vast potential as yet untapped.

In fact, it held practically nothing. When Ignis reached, only two weapons presented themselves: a simple sword, and a larger greatsword. He stretched his arm out and grasped… and the weight of the small sword fell into his hand.

He opened his eyes and eyed the blade.

“Nice job, bro! You did it!” Prompto’s voice was practically in his ear -- and he realized that’s because Prompto had an arm around his shoulders, and was nearly holding him up. “You okay, dude?” Prompto said, when Ignis shifted to make sure he was properly on his feet.

“Y… yes,” he said. And as soon as he was steady, Prompto pulled away.

“All right, let it go and we’ll try that again!”

And so they did. No fighting, just… summoning the blade. And it was a challenge. Wrestling with the Crystal’s magic was a far cry from accessing his personal pocket of it -- with the added complication of having to distinguish between the two spaces every time he reached, so he didn’t pull out his own daggers again. After only five more tries, he was physically and mentally spent.

“Okay, let’s call that good,” Prompto said after the sixth attempt ended in nothing. “I think it’s time for some rest.”

Ignis wiped sweat from his eyes, his breathing heavy from the mental exertion.

“Go shower and get ready for your next appointment,” Gladio said as he approached from the sidelines. “You won’t need the fancy suit again, but I had your other jacket brought down.”

Ignis walked away -- and just caught Prompto’s quiet “So where d’you think those knives came from?” before he retreated into the depths of the locker room. He bathed and readied himself, all the while deep in thought. The most pressing question he had, which would be quickly answered when he left this world, was whether or not he’d keep his access to the Crystal’s full power. He was certain there were ways he could put that to use in his duel with Ardyn, but he highly doubted that this Ignis’s royal heritage would follow him once he’d left.

He was just lacing up his shoes when the heavy tread of boots caught his attention and he looked up to see Ardyn approaching.

Ignis scowled.

“Now now,” Ardyn said. “No need for that.”

This Ignis must not have hit his late-teen growth spurt yet, because the closer Ardyn got, the taller he loomed, until Ignis was craning his neck to look up at him, and struggling not to give him the satisfaction of forcing Ignis to back away.

“Well?” Ardyn said.

As much as Ignis desired to pull that sword from his new arsenal and run Ardyn through, he couldn’t possibly. He needed Ardyn in order to return to his own world -- his own Noct. So he pushed down the urge and elected to simply glower.

“Don’t tell me you don’t _enjoy_ being royalty.”

“Mine was _never_ a royal calling -- and I would greatly appreciate being returned to the place where I can do the most good as I am!”

Ardyn looked… bitter. “Oh yes, yes, let someone else take the limelight… you would much rather follow in another's shadow than be responsible, I suppose.”

“You mistake me.”

“Oh, not at all. I think I can tell when the gifts royal would be lost on someone. Nevermind, then…”

“You think I should _enjoy_ being the Prince?” Ignis was almost angry.

“I think you should more fully appreciate what it _means,"_ Ardyn said. “But perhaps that’s impossible, with so little time in the role.” He sighed. “I forgive you.”

“I don’t need your forgiveness,” Ignis snapped. “Why would you forgive me?”

“For not knowing a good thing when it comes to you.” For some reason Ignis could not fathom, Ardyn looked downright _irritated._

Ignis didn’t care to know why. “Get me _out of here,”_ he said. “Return me so I can fill my purpose.”

“Your purpose,” Ardyn scoffed. “A King’s Hand, who would do anything for his liege.”

“I would _die_ for him,” Ignis said, pride and determination welling up together in his chest.

Ardyn scowled -- then his mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “I can arrange that,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A half-Fenestala knot is essentially a half-Windsor... I switched "Windsor" for an Eos equivalent.


	18. Through Death and Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there has to be a whump chapter. Right? >:)
> 
> I'll be up front... there is serious injury (and description of experiencing it) in the first section of this chapter, and hospitalization afterward, so if that is Not For You be aware! (Let me know if I need to post a summary at the end.)

Ignis blinked -- and that was all the time it took for the aramusha's sword to run him through.

He didn’t feel it at first -- just a thud when it hit his chest. But as the daemon drew the sword out again, fire erupted where the blade had struck him and radiated out from his chest to his limbs. He gasped -- but his breath felt difficult, limited and short, and it bubbled weirdly in his chest. He dropped the daggers he’d been holding and tried to lift a hand to his wound, to put pressure on it and stop the bleeding he knew would kill him, but his arms wouldn’t obey him.

“Ignis!” “Iggy!” _“Specs!”_

His companions. They were nearby, and he had to…

Ignis slumped to his knees, gravel grinding into them as they took the full brunt of his weight, and then he was on the ground. His glasses were askew, somehow; he tried to will his arms to work, to right them, but nothing seemed to be functioning properly now, least of all his vision. He could hear the noises of battle around him, but as though he was hearing it from underwater, the sounds muted, even Noct’s furious and desperate cries.

“It’s all right, Noct,” he said. Or he thought he did; his mouth wasn’t working as it should, and the sound came out as some kind of wet moan. His vision appeared to be greying at the edges, and that didn’t seem right…

And there was something important he should be doing, something about Ardyn…

… the Chosen King’s destiny…

Then the world seemed to go silent, even though there were voices around him. Someone’s hands on him, rolling him over. He was still breathing, but only just, and it was difficult -- painful. Breathing wasn’t supposed to be painful.

If it was so painful, perhaps it would be easier to stop.

So he did.

The pain ceased and he was free.

A wash of fire drew him back -- this time, a living fire that restored as it burned, but was still agonizing. Still, he couldn’t quite scramble out of the abyss he had fallen into. He thought, distantly, that he heard someone calling his name, that he felt someone’s arms under his shoulders and knees, and then the disorienting swoop of being lifted. A rocking motion, but against his side a firm warmth as he was held against someone’s chest. Of his head lolling against someone’s shoulder. But that couldn’t be right.

It couldn’t be right.

Where was Ardyn, and how could he get back to Noctis? He needed the Ring…

He drifted.

 

* * *

 

Ignis stood in a field of sylleblossoms, but the air felt like water. It resisted when he moved, even just to turn to look around him. He was alone…

And then he wasn’t. A white dog with odd markings on her face sat several meters away, peering at him with curious and intelligent eyes. When he looked at her, she cocked her head and opened her mouth like she was laughing. She was familiar, somehow…

His memory provided a name. “Pryna?” Ignis said, but the thick air around him swallowed his voice.

She barked, but it made no sound.

“What are you…”

Then Ignis remembered.

Pryna, lying broken on the pier at Altissia. Pryna, looking up into his eyes. Pryna, showing him a vision…

A vision of Noctis on the throne.

Of the kings of yore stabbing him through with their weapons, his head striking the throne’s tall back with each thrust.

Ignis wanted to throw himself in front of Noctis, to knock the weapons away -- but he was held frozen, unable to move, unable to stop it. In his panic, he wondered if this was the Chosen King’s destiny Ardyn spoke of -- Noctis on the throne, assaulted by the weapons of his ancestors, _dying?_ Was this what Ardyn had meant by ‘If only you knew’?

“No…!” Ignis shook his head. “No, it can’t be! I won’t let it--” He tried to swing his arms, to fight against the thick air, as if that would help him. He had to get back to Noctis. He had to...

But there was nothing Ignis could do to change this vision. Nothing he could _fight._

Pryna laughed at him mirthlessly, and he flailed in the thick air.

 

* * *

 

He was a long time underwater.

When he resurfaced, he became aware gradually. The softness of pillows under his head. The scratch of a woolen blanket under his hands. A stiff mattress supporting his back.

He opened his eyes. Dim light obscured the ceiling above him. He shifted…

His arms were restrained, and he felt a pressure in the crook of his elbow -- a twinge when his arm muscles shifted. An IV? The head of the bed was slightly angled up, so he looked down his arm, and found it was so: an IV, the tubes connected to something behind his head. He was in a hospital bed.

He must have made some noise, because there was a shifting elsewhere in the room, heavy footsteps approaching, and then Gladio leaned over him. “Hey, Iggy, you with us?” His voice was gentle and low.

“Gladio.” Ignis's voice rasped and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

It looked like Gladio smiled -- it was hard to tell in the darkness. “Here,” Gladio said, and lifted a cup. He set the straw to Ignis’s lips, and Ignis took a long draw and swished the water around his mouth before swallowing.

“My thanks,” he said when he could, and his voice sounded a little better, but was still little more than a whisper. He shifted his arms against the restraints. “My arms…”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Gladio said, shifting uncomfortably. “You were… kinda thrashing a bit.”

“Apologies,” Ignis murmured. He was so tired.

“You… ah…” Gladio rubbed the back of his head with one hand. “You kinda died on us.”

Ignis’s mouth fell open. “Oh,” he said. But of course… and the events rushed back to him. He was dropped into this world at exactly the wrong moment -- or exactly the right one, depending on Ardyn’s intention. He had never felt that much pain in all his life. And dying…

Dying was terrifying.

“We used a phoenix down, but it didn’t quite fix everything and you lost a lot of blood and had a collapsed lung.”

Ignis let the information wash over him. He took a deep experimental breath. His chest twinged. His whole body ached… and from the dullness of his senses and the slurring of his speech, he suspected he was on serious pain medication. Fatigue dragged at him, pulling him down into sleep.

“I’ll tell Prompto and the princess that you’re awake,” Gladio said, as Ignis’s eyes drifted closed.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was brighter, and Gladio was gone. There was a weight on his leg, something leaning against the side of the bed -- and when Ignis shifted, the weight shifted too, sat up, blinked at him.

Noctis.

Ignis opened his mouth but Noctis was faster.

“Ignis…!” He set a hand on Ignis’s nearest knee and lowered his head. “Don’t… _do_ that to me again…” His voice was oddly broken. The hair that hid his eyes now didn’t cover his mouth -- quivering lips drawn away from clenched teeth -- or the tracks of tears that met at the tip of his chin.

Ignis tried to lift a hand and found that he could. The restraints were gone now. He wanted to set it on Noct’s shoulder, but when he tried to lean forward, his chest twinged and he coughed wetly.

Noctis looked up at him. “No, don’t… you’ll hurt yourself.” He pushed Ignis’s shoulder back down to the bed, but he drew near enough that Ignis could grasp his bicep.

“I’m… so sorry,” he managed in a raspy voice. His throat was dry again.

“Oh. Uh. Here,” Noctis said, and grabbed the cup from the nearby table. He held it so Ignis could drink. So gentle, so caring, this side of Noctis that was seldom seen. Ignis felt his eyes prickle and had to blink several times, willing the tears to stop. _The cursed painkillers,_ he thought… He shouldn’t be this emotional, just because Noctis was caring for him. He was sure his own Noctis would do the same. His own Noctis… who he might not see again.

And that brought the prickle of tears anew. _His Noctis._ His Noctis, unconscious on the stones of Altissia, who was fated to die at the hands of his ancestors. And Ignis was _here_ , at the mercy of Ardyn’s whims, doing _nothing._ He felt so helpless. So weak.

“No, no, Specs, it’s okay…”

And Noctis was rubbing his shoulder, trying to comfort him. The choking sob that came out when he recognized that hurt his chest. He gasped and pressed a palm to his sternum, and took several measured breaths.

“My… apologies,” he finally said.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Noct said bitterly. “Just. Just get better. We’re out of potions, but Gladio and Prompto went out on a hunt this morning so hopefully they can pick some up, and we’ll get you well and get you out of here. I know that… the longer you wait to use one, the less effective they are, but they’ve… they’ve gotta do something, right?”

Ignis didn’t know what to say. Were potions less effective here, then? Contingent on time for efficacy? He considered the number of times he’d been wounded, and they’d had to wait for curatives due to money… he’d always turned out fine, no matter how seriously injured he’d been. But now, he was quite seriously injured -- and on his own, he would be weeks in recovery. That -- the idea of it, of holding Noct back -- welled up in his chest, and spilled from his eyes.

The tears and the pain dragged at him, and he felt himself drifting off again. He clutched at Noct’s arm. “I…”  

But before he could say anything more, his strength drained away and he drifted off yet again.

 

* * *

 

The next time he woke, Noctis was gone, but Ignis could make out the silhouette of someone else, facing the window.

Ignis’s breath hitched.

“Ah, so you’re awake, are you?”

_Ardyn._

Ignis tried to raise himself up on one elbow, but gasped when pain lanced through his chest at the motion.

Ardyn turned to him. “Now, now, don’t overexert yourself. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

“You…” Ignis croaked -- he tried to clear his throat but the effort hurt too much. He had to let his voice continue to rasp. “You said before you wouldn't let me die.”

“And you didn't! Not with any permanence, at least. Your friends were there to take care of you.” Ardyn stepped closer, His scarves swaying with every stride.

“What…” Ignis started, then took a deep breath, ignoring the twinge in his chest. “What was your purpose in bringing me here?”

“Must I have a purpose for _everything?_ ” Ardyn asked. “This is yet another option that the universe has in store. You’re on a dangerous journey, after all. There are so many ways to get hurt. So many.” He loomed over Ignis’s bed, smiling. “In this world, perhaps, you can be left behind -- you won’t have to suffer needlessly.”

Ignis grit his teeth. He couldn’t give in to his urge to back away… there was nothing he could do, where he was. So he turned to the one thing he could do. “...Is the Chosen King’s destiny… that...” he started to ask.

Ardyn tutted. “No no no, now is hardly the time for that conversation; you’ll do yourself another injury.” He straightened. “How about we get you out of this predicament? Find something more pleasant.” And before Ignis could say anything more, Ardyn snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter is _Really Silly_ to make up for this one, which is pretty grim...!


	19. Transform, Magical Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis is horrified to be a Magical Girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I totally watched Sailor Moon Crystal as research for this chapter. >:)

Ignis blinked and gasped at the sudden relief. The sharp pain and aches of his injury, the drag of the hospital IV… all were gone. He appeared to have just stood up from a park bench, and in front of him blue fox with a red crystal in its forehead bristled -- was that _Carbuncle?_ Noctis had talked about Carbuncle before, and while Ignis knew better than to think a divine messenger imaginary, he had never imagined that he would ever _meet_ the creature.

While he boggled, the phone in his left hand pinged. He looked down at it.

The new text on the messaging app’s screen read _‘Quickly! Hold up your pen and say “Power of the Night, Release!”’_

“Wh- what?” Ignis stammered.

Ping. _‘Do it now!’_

In his right hand, he held a pen. It looked unremarkable, aside from being a gel pen in some obscene sparkly color that he would never in his life _pick up_ let alone _use._ “P… power of the night, release?” he repeated, and was about to ask what that was even supposed to mean and why he needed to say it when a sudden wind tugged at him…

And then he was blown aloft, and the wind spun him around and tugged at his clothes _and suddenly his clothes were GONE_ and his surprised (terrified) gasp couldn’t be heard over the air rushing around him -- but just as abruptly he was also enveloped in flowing green silk that wrapped him tightly in a cocoon and then laced itself around his limbs. He couldn’t even struggle against it; and it’s only when the silk wound itself around his hands and feet that he was able to pay attention to what it was doing.

The “silk” tightened into supple gloves on his hands, and into knee-high leather boots on his feet, both fanciful in design. The rest of the fabric settled around his torso, arms, and legs, morphing into clothing. The pen in his hand lengthened and thickened until he was holding the shaft of an intricate and entirely impractical polearm of elaborate design. And as the wind died down, it settled him gently on his feet on solid ground and fluttered the edges of a green cape at his shoulders. He stared at his new clothes, aghast. His eyes were assaulted by green and spangles and contrasting white sashes, and he had just enough time to notice the slight weight of some kind of mask on his face when a childlike voice popped into his head, startling him badly.

 _“Now you can fight them,”_ the voice said.

Ignis froze. “Who is that?” he demanded.

 _“It’s me, Carbuncle!”_ The small fox creature crouched at Ignis’s feet. _“Now that you’ve unlocked your powers, I can speak to you without that device.”_

Nerves on edge, Ignis exhaled. “Excellent,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But fight whom? And what is this ludicrous getup?”

 _"Your clothes are your power,”_ Carbuncle said, with a small bounce. _“They will give you the strength you need to fight the darkness!”_

“But--”

_“Hurry! Your prince needs you!”_

Carbuncle’s “explanation” had explained nothing at all -- but at the mention of the prince, Ignis grit his teeth. Of _course_ Noctis was in trouble. Of _course_ Ignis was expected to help. What kind of predicament was Noctis in _this time?_

 _“This way,”_ Carbuncle chirped, and bounded away.

Ignis followed -- ignoring (or trying to ignore) the irritating breeze that caressed his sides as he ran. This awful, bizarre suit had empty panels exposing his midriff and hips. It was a painful reminder that he was not in his own familiar world -- and that powers beyond his ken had control here. In his own world, Noct was destined to die by the swords of his ancestors, if Pryna’s vision was anything to go by. He grimaced and suppressed that thought with all his might.

Carbuncle led him away from the park into the streets of Insomnia. Heads turned and people called out questioningly as he passed through the crowds. He didn’t have time to be embarrassed; he could barely keep up with the retreating form of the fox messenger and he was beside himself to guess what kind of evil he could be facing on the streets of Insomnia itself.

Or what kind of danger this Noctis must be in.

Carbuncle rounded a corner that led into an alleyway and stopped short, and Ignis stumbled to a halt behind it, trying to catch his breath. Carbuncle lashed its tail and bristled.

 _“There,”_ Carbuncle said. And then Ignis saw a hunched figure, slouched against the wall in the alley. A cloud of tangible darkness bubbled around it, and it gave out a low moan. _Noctis._

“What… IS that?” Ignis breathed.

 _“The Scourge,”_ Carbuncle said. _“It takes form as daemons and descends on unsuspecting people, devouring them. Quickly! Your lance! Say ‘Night’s Cleansing Flame, Ignite!’ -- that’s the name of your power!”_

Ignis was pretty sure that wasn’t how the Scourge was supposed to work -- but how was he to argue, when he didn’t know this world’s rules? He braced himself, holding his polearm ready before him. It was surprisingly light, considering how elaborate and heavy its head looked. But… the thought of shouting out an attack name like some kind of anime character... “Are you _quite serious?”_ he said -- his voice dripped with annoyance, but he didn’t care.

_“No talking back! Just do it!”_

Ignis swallowed a sigh and grit his teeth. “Night’s… Cleansing Flame… Ugh. Ignite!”

A spark flared up the length of his lance and fizzled at the tip with a pop… and nothing else happened.

Carbuncle turned and squinted at him. _“Put some heart into it or it won’t work properly,”_ it scolded.

“Fine,” Ignis hissed. Reluctant, he gripped the lance more tightly. “Night’s Cleansing Flame, Ignite!” he yelled.

And he almost dropped the lance when flames raced up the entire length of it, then gathered unnaturally at the tip, sparking with unfettered power.

_“Swing it! Quickly!”_

“But I’ll hurt Noct!”

_“He’ll be fine; this is a purifying fire that only works on Scourgespawn!”_

Ignis still hesitated until Carbuncle barked at him.

He leapt up and swung the lance down in the direction of the ball of gloom overshadowing Noct, and the flame flew in a blazing arc and splashed around Noct, searing the darkness and burning the Scourge away.

And then Noct was free -- but slumped against the ground, unmoving. Sparks fluttered in little eddies around him.

Carbuncle bolted over to him, and sniffed him all over. _“He’ll be fine -- but he needs rest, and he shouldn’t stay here. Lift him, quickly!”_

Ignis looked at the lance in his hand, wondering if it should go into the Armiger like the rest of his weapons.

 _“Just let go,”_ Carbuncle said.

Ignis did so, willing the lance into the Armiger… but then wondered if that was what the messenger had intended when Carbuncle said, _“It will return when you need it. Just hold out a hand and say ‘Blazing Lance of Night’s Power, Return!’”_

Ignis rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it. That wasn’t how the Armiger worked at all. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

 _“I heard that,”_ Carbuncle snapped. _“Pick up your prince and let’s get him to safety!”_

Ignis lifted Noctis into his arms, and started to follow Carbuncle -- then came to an abrupt stop.

Before them, wrapped in a cape, with a jaunty, wide-brimmed hat and a slim whisp of a mask that did nothing to disguise him, stood _Gladio._ He doffed his hat and bowed low. Before Ignis could ask Gladio what he was doing here, Carbuncle exclaimed, _“Who are you and what do you want with us?”_

Gladio straightened and settled the hat back on his head. He ignored Carbuncle completely (Ignis wondered if he could even see the creature) and peered at Ignis. “Nice outfit,” he said. “You wear that often?”

Ignis sputtered.

Gladio laughed at his embarrassment. “I thought I might have to step in and help,” he said, “but it looks like you’ve got it covered. Guess I’ll just have to help another time.” Then he smiled.

It was the smile he used when he was flirting.

Ignis swallowed and grimaced. “I need to get Noctis to safety,” he said. “If you don’t mind…”

“‘Course not,” Gladio said, and winked. “I hope I’ll see you later.” And then he leapt away -- an impossible bound that took him up the wall in three steps and over the side of the building.

Ignis gaped in his wake. Gladio shouldn’t be able to do that.

… The impossible stunt had been far more stylish than it had any right to be.

 _“I wonder who that was,”_ Carbuncle said. _“Do you know him?”_

Ignis side-eyed Carbuncle with incredulity. Ignis couldn’t possibly know this Gladio -- his own Gladio would _never_ flirt with him so brazenly. But it was _utterly obvious_ who it was. The build, the muscles, everything that useless mask utterly failed to hide... _It was Gladio,_ Ignis wanted to yell, but something held him back. He was pretty sure this Ignis didn’t know Gladio, or Gladio’s manner would have been a different flavor of familiar.

It was clear that Carbuncle didn’t know him.

 _“Whoever that is, we don’t know what he’s after,”_ Carbuncle continued. _“We should be careful if he shows up again.”_

Of _course_ they’d see him again. Long ago in his distant youth Ignis had _watched_ Sailor Moon with Noctis and he _knew_ where this was going. Something like, anyway. But he kept his mouth shut.

When Carbuncle bolted away again, Ignis followed as quickly as he could without jostling the unconscious prince. Carbuncle guided him through empty back alleys and side streets to Noctis’s apartment building. Instead of leading Ignis through the front door, Carbuncle guided him to the side of the building -- the one where Noctis’s windows overlooked the city -- and said _“Up you go!”_

Ignis looked up the sheer wall to where Noct’s window stood open. “Are you quite serious?” he said. He had a feeling he had said that recently.  

_“Just go up! You’ll be fine; just approach it at a run!”_

Ignis grit his teeth, and hefted Noct’s unconscious form and backed up to get a good angle for the wall. Then he launched himself -- and in three steps, he had scaled the wall and stood balanced on the rim of the window. He looked back down at the ground and made a strangled noise in his throat. _Don't think about it, don't think about it,_ he repeated over and over -- it didn't have to make sense. He just needed to see himself through this mess until Ardyn showed up and whisked him away to a world that was more sane.

He couldn’t exactly remove the screen with his arms full of Noctis, so he nudged at it with a toe of his ridiculous boots and the screen popped inside. He wrestled Noctis through the window -- it wasn’t quite big enough, so he had to squeeze his shoulders in and pull Noct in after, a tricky maneuver made more challenging by being several floors above ground.

Once inside, he dragged Noctis in to his room and tucked him into bed -- and Carbuncle was there, nosing at the blanket. _“He’ll be all right,”_ it said, and Ignis sincerely hoped it was right. There was little he could do against a Scourge-inflicted malaise -- if indeed it was a lasting affliction.

 _“Quickly; we can’t be found here!”_ Carbuncle said, and hopped out of the window.

Ignis looked down at Noctis and sighed.

He wasn’t some kind of magical girl. Whatever rules governed this world made little sense -- and he didn’t want to stay long enough to solve whatever mystery would help him navigate them. He didn’t want to _have_ to navigate them. He wanted…

Noctis made a small, pained noise in his sleep.

Ignis forced himself to turn away. He looked at the window but couldn’t stomach jumping from it -- even if Carbuncle had faith in his powers.

 _“Come on!”_ Carbuncle called from outside, but instead of following, Ignis opted for the traditional exit.

Ignis opened Noctis’s front door... and found himself face to face with Prompto. His hand was raised as though about to knock.

Prompto squeaked -- a noise that forced Ignis into action. He pushed past Prompto and sprinted down the hallway fast enough that Prompto’s “Hey wait, are you--” quickly faded and he didn’t hear him finish. Ignis didn’t wait for the elevator, but sprang down the stairs, taking them at a speed he was sure he ordinarily couldn’t have managed.

By the time he snuck through the lobby and out the front door, Carbuncle was waiting for him in front of the building, practically bristling with irritation. _“You could have just used the window like I did,”_ it said. _“Your power would have guided you.”_

“Forgive me if I’m not quite ready to trust it, just yet,” Ignis said, his voice tight with exaspiration, but also breathless from his run.

Carbuncle sneezed in a way that Ignis thought might be an expression of frustration. _"Follow me,”_ it said at last.

They sped through the city -- down side streets and over rooftops. Ignis wondered in part where they were going, but trusted Carbuncle to know.

They were making their way through an abandoned alley when Ardyn rounded the corner in front of them.

Ignis stumbled to a stop. Carbuncle gave a panicked chirp and vanished -- and Ignis thought it was just as well; Ardyn was _his_ problem, not this world’s. He gripped his polearm and raised it defensively.

“Now, now,” Ardyn said. “Aww, it’s almost like you don’t trust me,” Ardyn said.

“You have given me no reason to trust you,” Ignis said through clenched teeth.

“At least you’re enjoying a small reprieve, I hope?” Ardyn said, and smirked.

Ignis schooled his face. “I had need of one, no thanks to you,” he said, perhaps forcing more frustration into his voice than he truly felt.

“You wound me,” Ardyn said dramatically. “And here I’m only trying to help.”

“I’m not sure I enjoy your help,” Ignis countered.

“Don’t be too eager to dismiss it,” Ardyn said, “Or I’m likely to leave you somewhere particularly unpleasant.”

Ignis thought about the previous world, and being impaled just as he arrived in it. He didn’t think anything Ardyn could throw at him now would be more unpleasant than that. He wasn’t about to say that out loud for Ardyn to try to outdo himself. “Return me to Noctis _this instant,”_ he said.

“Ah, I think not,” Ardyn said. “There are far too many unexplored options for you.”

Ignis opened his mouth to argue -- but Ardyn gave him a cruel smile and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuxedo Mask's 'mask' doesn't disguise anything, just saying.
> 
> I'm probably? going to keep my every-other-week posting schedule until I have built my buffer back up -- but I'm getting close!
> 
> I'm [on Twitter @avianscribbles](https://mobile.twitter.com/avianscribbles) and [on Tumblr @avianscribe!](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com/)


	20. A Purrfect Conundrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis makes a blunder that results in a revelation -- and an unfortunate status effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be a contributor in the Full Bloom Zine -- Final Fantasy XV-themed, with flowers! Watch for it on Twitter [@fullbloomzine](https://twitter.com/fullbloomzine)!
> 
> And you can find me [on Twitter @avianscribbles](https://mobile.twitter.com/avianscribbles) and [on Tumblr @avianscribe!](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com/)

Ignis blinked… and immediately stumbled on the root of a tree. He took a couple halting steps before he was able to regain his balance and take in his surroundings. He was in his own clothes again, thank the Astrals -- that green, spangly monstrosity was  _ gone.  _ In front of him, Gladio’s broad back advanced down a forest trail; and with a quick glance over his shoulder Ignis found Noct and Prompto trailing behind. 

Noct peered at him with concern. “You okay, Ignis?” he asked. 

“Fine,” he said. And he was. But he had all the unknowns about  _ this _ world to discover -- other than that they were hiking through a thinning forest -- and he had a lot to think about. Ardyn’s puzzling hints. Pryna.  _ Noct’s fate. _ He grit his teeth, stiffened his shoulders, and turned to follow Gladio. 

He tuned his ears to the sounds of the forest, willing himself to be alert and to watch for danger -- that was his purpose, after all -- but the monotony worked against him. The last world had been too distracting for him to think. Now, however, plodding through the forest with nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts... They were far from pleasant.

But he had to hide it from Noctis. From everyone.

He apparently couldn’t hide his distress quite well enough. 

Ignis didn’t notice Noctis pull up beside him until Noct’s quiet “Hey” made him jump. 

“Whoa,” Noctis said, and put a hand on his arm. “You’re really  _ not _ okay.”

“I’m--” 

Noctis cut him off. “You don’t need to lie to me,” he said quietly. “We can turn back. We’ll put the hunt off until tomorrow if we need to.” 

Ignis didn’t want to  _ be _ here tomorrow. “I assure you, Noct, I--” 

“Hush,” Gladio said, and raised a hand to slow them. “We’re getting close.”

They all came to a halt. Gladio turned his attention ahead, searching, and Noct and Prompto quickly joined him, scanning the wide, grassy slope that descended from the copse of trees sheltering them.

Ignis vaguely wondered what they were hunting this time. He couldn’t ask. Of all of them, he’d know more about their quarry. But at the moment, it almost didn’t matter to him  _ what _ the quarry was; he was more worried that he couldn’t hide the trembling in his hands, or the distress that he was sure showed on his face. He tried to ignore Noctis side-eyeing him.

Their mark became clear almost at once. From their vantage point, they had a good view of the valley -- and about half-way down the hill, they could see the long back of a lean coeurl sunning itself on a large, solitary stone. It looked like an Elder Coeurl, grizzled and scarred, its long whiskers wavering. But something was off about its color.

“Looks like a real veteran,” Gladio said. “We’ll have to be careful.” 

“Yeah,” Noctis breathed. 

“Weak to swords, I think… and fire,” Ignis said. At least, it should be, if it were like the coeurls they had faced before. He hoped he was right.

“All right,” Noctis said. Then, “Ignis, you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ignis said.

The look Noctis gave him was skeptical -- but instead of arguing, he exhaled. “All right,” he said. “You hit it with fire, and then the rest of us will go in.” He summoned his engine blade.

That slight crystalline sound was apparently not quiet enough. The coeurl’s head twisted around and it peered directly at them over its shoulder. 

Gladio swore under his breath. Then, “Now, Ignis!” 

Ignis reached for a flask of fire… and found _ nothing. _ Or rather, the armiger that yawned open for him was not the one that held his magic. It had only a simple sword and a greatsword and the vast power of the Crystal’s raw magic. 

“Ignis?” Noctis said. 

“Er…” he said.

“Need it  _ now,” _ Gladio said. 

Ignis frantically reached again -- for his  _ own _ armiger this time -- but it was too late. The coeurl was upon them, snarling. He summoned his daggers instead and jumped back. Gladio pushed Noctis out of the way. He blocked the coeurl’s charge with his greatsword and shoved it back with a snarl of his own. 

And Ignis couldn’t use magic  _ now, _ because they’d all be caught in it. 

Prompto fired at the coeurl almost point-blank and the round burst into its shoulder with a shower of blood and fur. The creature yowled and slashed at him; he yelped and jumped back and caught his heel on a root and fell.

“Prompto!” Noct yelled. 

Ignis moved. He sensed Gladio do the same. Together they placed themselves between the wounded coeurl and Prompto, to give him a chance to scramble to his feet.

The coeurl growled, and its whiskers began to glow. 

“Look out!” Ignis said, and backed up. Gladio backed up with him. 

The coeurl’s whiskers whipped towards them -- and a sudden flash blinded Ignis. He thought he raised his hands -- but then a disorienting wave of magic crackled over his skin and he lost hold of his daggers and collapsed. All sound became muffled -- and for a moment, he thought the coeurl’s lightning had deafened him. The sounds of the surrounding forest slowly returned, and the labored breathing of the injured coeurl faded, like it was moving away. 

Ignis shuddered. He needed to get to his feet, needed to see where Noct was, where the others were… needed to see if the coeurl was coming back. He shifted, trying to get his hands underneath him to push himself up -- but things didn’t feel quite right. His center of balance was off, and when he tried to push himself up, he toppled over.  “Noct!” he called -- except it didn’t come out that way. But before he could begin to puzzle about it, he heard something else. 

Hesitant footsteps approached, and Noctis said, “Guys??” 

Ignis looked up… and up, and up, at Noctis, who towered over him and gaped in bald astonishment. “Noct, what’s going on?” Ignis tried to say -- but it came out as a distinct “Mrraaow?”

Then there was a yowl to his right, and something bowled into him -- something massive and brown and furry and hissing, and… it was a cat. A cat bigger than Ignis was, that pinned him with huge paws and glared, ears back, tail lashing. A scar crossed over its left eye... just like Gladio’s. Its posture positively screamed at him, “You idiot!”

“Gladio…?” Noctis said, and lifted the cat -- Gladio -- off. Noctis could barely hold onto him; his torso alone was nearly as long as Noct’s. Without Gladio’s paws pinning him to the ground, Ignis was able to struggle to his feet and finally get a proper look at himself. 

He was a cat. Not enormous and hairy like Gladio, but a sleek shorthair, his tawny coat a sort of ticked caramel coloring, the hairs darker at the tips. He would have admired it, except… he was a  _ cat. _ The same emotion that would have had him pinching the bridge of his nose to keep himself from yelling instead made him stiffen, flatten his ears (an odd sensation, until he figured out what it was he was doing) and twitch the tip of his tail.

He didn’t WANT to be a cat. Or a magical girl, or a werewolf, or a prince or vampire or fairy. He didn’t want to have wings or a coffeeshop or a soulmate. He wanted to be  _ himself, _ back with  _ his Noctis, _ fighting Ardyn off and reclaiming Insomnia and figuring out how to prevent Noctis from being skewered by the swords of his ancestors. He was so angry that when Noctis knelt down and extended a hand towards him he  _ hissed. _

Noctis pulled his hand back and stood. “Where’s Prompto?” he said urgently.

Ignis craned his neck, looking around for their fourth party member and didn’t see him at first. Then an orange head poked up from a patch of grass. Eyes wide and ears flat, his whole posture radiated “I don’t like this  _ one bit” _ so loud Ignis could almost hear him saying it. 

“P...Prompto??” Noct said. “Is that  _ you?” _

The small orange tabby took several delicate steps through the grass and looked up at Noct. “Mew,” it said -- a high, plaintive sound. Then the tabby ran to Noct and stretched its paws up his leg, its tail and ears and posture and everything about it pleading “Help me!”

“Astrals,” Noctis muttered. He put Gladio down and then picked up Prompto and cradled him in his arms. Prompto pushed his head into the crook of Noct’s arm like he wanted to hide from everyone and everything. Noctis sighed. “Guess I’ll have to…” then his eyes widened and he swore. “We’re out...! What am I gonna do now?”

Ignis froze. “What!” he tried to say, but it came out as a loud “Meow!”

Prompto peeked down at him from Noctis’s arms, looking absolutely miserable.

Noctis looked down at Ignis and Gladio. “You guys… follow me to the car, okay? I can’t carry all of you. ‘Specially you, Gladio;  _ Stars,  _ you’re huge.” 

Gladio glared up at him, his lashing tail and flattened ears physical manifestation of the vulgar epithet Ignis was sure Gladio  _ wanted _ to say but couldn’t.

Noctis took off back through the forest, and Ignis had to trot to keep up with him. It took Ignis a moment to relax and let his feline body move on its own, because of course he was thinking too hard about everything. 

Indeed, the walk back to the car gave him too much time to think about his disastrous mistake that had led to this.

About the Armiger.

He shouldn’t still have access to the direct power of the Crystal. Not now, not when he’d left the world where he was a prince.  _ Noctis  _ was Prince here, and the legacy of the Lucii belonged to  _ him. _ Ignis shouldn’t have access to it -- but he did. It had opened for him before his own arsenal had. He tentatively reached for his own -- consciously, this time -- and could feel it there, hovering just beyond his reach. Something was in the way. He wondered if his curious (infuriating) status effect was the cause. 

It’s not like he’d be able to wield any of his weapons right now, anyway… not as a cat. 

He realized he was lagging behind. Noctis wasn’t wasting time. Ignis sprinted to make up lost ground -- then Noctis slowed and pulled out his phone. Ignis caught up just in time to hear Noctis say “...remedies are  _ gone!  _ What do I do, Cor? They’re not gonna be able to fight like this!” 

With his sharper ears, he could just pick out Cor’s reply: “If you’re out of remedies, you’ll just have to wait for it to wear off. In the meantime, see if you can’t hole up at a motel or a caravan. Do you have enough gil?”

They didn’t have  _ remedies.  _ How could they have let that happen? Ignis was appalled at himself -- at  _ this _ Ignis. What kind of world was this that he could have been so careless as to allow them to run out of an important curative on a journey like this? 

“May have enough for a caravan,” Noctis was saying.

“Do that,” Cor’s tinny voice replied. “And keep them indoors. Can they understand you still?” 

“I think so.” 

“If they do, they should understand why. If they don’t, they’ll be constantly trying to escape outdoors -- and you don’t want them becoming targets.” 

“You’re telling me.”  

“Keep them safe. I’ll see if I can get to you.” 

“Thanks.” Then Noctis thumbed his phone off and pocketed it. He picked up the pace again. “C’mon, guys, let’s get you out of here.”

The wave of Gladio’s tail said “No arguments here,” and he took off down the path -- hopefully in the direction of the car -- with Noctis running in his wake. Prompto was still curled in Noctis’s arms. Ignis followed.

His thoughts weren’t on his errand, though, and he soon found himself falling behind again. When he realized he could no longer see Noctis ahead of him, he tensed to sprint to him -- but two hands scooped him up. “Ahh, what have we  _ here,”  _ said Ardyn’s voice. 

Ignis wriggled in Ardyn’s grip but the man tucked an arm around him in a secure hold, trapping Ignis tight against his chest. Ignis wanted to bite, to get Ardyn to let go -- but with the way Ardyn’s hand was splayed against his chest, Ignis couldn’t bend far enough to reach. 

Then (infuriatingly) Ardyn began to  _ pet him. _ “Aren’t you a sweet little thing,” Ardyn purred.

Ignis couldn’t help it; he flattened his ears and hissed.

“Oh, such language,” Ardyn said, still smoothing the fur between Ignis’s ears. “There’s no need for that.”

“Get me out of here,” Ignis tried to say. The growl that came out instead was incredibly satisfying.

“Mmmm, I would say this world doesn’t seem to suit you at all, does it,” Ardyn said. “Tiny and helpless… unable to serve your Chosen King.”

Ignis tensed with rage and made another whining growl.

From afar, Noct’s voice floated towards them. “Ignis?”

“Aww, your king cares for you,” Ardyn said, and caressed his head again.

Ignis so wanted to sink his teeth into that hand -- and was about to, when a voretooth’s howl set his fur on end.

Noctis yelled a frantic “Ignis!” 

“Aww,” Ardyn said. “Whatever can your young king do to protect his afflicted servants from the beasties of the forest?”

The voretooth's howl was joined by more -- a full pack, it sounded like. Ignis had no clue what good he would be against a voretooth pack -- none, likely, as he was -- but at the very least he could see his king and comrades to safety. He growled and wriggled more, tried to push himself away from Ardyn with his hind legs, but the man’s hold was firm. 

“Well, then,” Ardyn said, before Ignis could escape. “I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?” And he snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many status effect fics are there where the bros have run out of remedies? XD
> 
> Cats don’t communicate vocally with each other; they communicate with complex body language. That was fun to play with, a little. >:)
> 
> Ignis is an Abyssinian, Gladio is a Maine Coon (have you seen pictures of Maine Coons? go do it), and Prompto is your standard orange tabby. And sooooo many cat names are based on proper location names. >_< It's difficult to transfer them to Eos without some kind of explanation...


	21. Daggerquill Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gladio's cooking skills leave a lot to be desired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have my buffer back, so I'm going back to once-a-week posts! >:) For the time being, at least!

Ignis blinked and jolted up in bed -- and hissed at the sudden pounding of his head.  He put a hand to his temple and lay back down with a groan that came out crackly. His attempt to make sound devolved into coughing that he could feel rattling in his chest. 

This… this was not good. Not at all. 

He took quick stock of how he felt. His head throbbed, the aftermath of his sudden movement. His throat hurt, his chest felt heavy, his sinuses were so badly congested he couldn’t breathe through his nose... His skin felt prickly and he shivered with what was likely a fever.

He couldn’t remember ever having felt this ill in his life. 

Feverish… he was feverish. For a brilliant moment, he thought perhaps that everything that had happened to him -- the nightmarish road trip, the ruins of Altissia, and all the torturous worlds Ardyn had subjected him to -- was just a fever-fueled dream. He mentally poked at his connection to the Armiger… and to his dismay, _two of them_ opened for him. His own, _and_ the one he’d had as Prince Ignis; both of them, waiting for him to summon what he needed. He groaned again and struggled against the resulting coughing fit that left him gasping. 

He grabbed for his glasses, fumbled them on, and peered blearily around the room. It looked like his old apartment -- the rooms he’d stayed in as a teen, balancing his duties to Noctis with his schooling. Everything in the room looked like it was in its proper order. 

From the light filtering through the curtains, it looked to be early morning -- earlier, perhaps, than his alarm, which wasn’t going off. He wondered briefly where his phone was. Not that it mattered. 

This was Ardyn’s doing, yet again. Why would Ardyn send him to a world where he was sick? It’s not like respiratory illness wasn’t temporary. 

He was incredibly thirsty, and began coughing again -- deep, productive coughs that wracked his whole body. He needed liquids. Liquids, and perhaps something soothing -- like soup. Tea. Cough drops. He wondered if he had any in the apartment. 

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and gripped the edge before lurching to his feet. He swayed for a moment and his head swam with vertigo.

His phone pinged from the night stand on the other side of the bed. 

He thought about getting back in bed and grabbing it from there. In his dizzy state, that might have been safest. But it would also have been far too tempting to curl back up and sleep, and he didn’t want to do that. Instead, he tottered around the bed, swaying with every step. He still managed to get to the phone and retrieve it. He was immediately grateful that the unlock was a fingerprint rather than a passcode. 

It was a message from Noctis -- a simple “where are you”. 

Ignis checked the time. It was nearly 10:30 in the morning. He thought that couldn’t be possible; it looked too dark. He pulled the drapes aside. The sky was heavily overcast and gray, and of course that’s why the light felt wrong… it was raining. 

What day of the week was it?

… He needed to do  _ something. _

He started coughing again, and as soon as he could take a full breath again, he made up his mind… soup it was. 

Ignis wobbled into the kitchen. He scoured the refrigerator to check its contents -- and was pleased to see that this world's Ignis was as dependable as ever. There was a wide assortment of vegetables, a package of daggerquill breasts, and in the freezer, several cups of homemade stock, portioned out in one-cup measurements into freezer bags for easy use in recipes. 

Even in his misery Ignis felt a flush of pride. Things might be different from world to world, but he was glad he could usually count on  _ himself  _ to be reliable. For the most part. Except when he forgot to stock up on remedies.

He pulled out the ingredients for a simple daggerquill soup, prepped the breasts with salt and pepper for frying... steadied himself against the counter when he swayed... pulled a couple freezer bags of the broth from the freezer and emptied them into a pan with the intention of putting them on a unit to heat up. He pulled a knife from the utensil drawer and set it by the cutting board, then picked up an onion. He blinked at it to focus his eyes on the papery outside layer so he could peel it off… and he had almost succeeded when someone knocked on his door. 

He stood in a puzzled stupor until whoever it was knocked again, more urgently… and Ignis supposed he’d better answer. He went to the door and opened it.

He found himself staring at Gladio -- scarless, clad in his grey sweats and a cap, and breathing like he’d jogged here. Gladio’s face pinched with concern. “Iggy -- is everything all right?”

“Gladi--” was all Ignis could get out before he started to cough. Great wracking spasms shook him head to toe. He barely felt Gladio’s hands on his shoulders, barely noticed him taking the onion away and guiding him to his sofa. 

By the time he managed to control his coughing fit, he could hear cupboards banging around in the kitchen. “What were you doing in here?” Gladio asked.

“Soup,” Ignis tried to say -- but it came out as a barely audible wheeze. 

Gladio ‘s head poked around the corner. “What'd you say?”

“I was making soup,” Ignis whispered.

Gladio’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You ain't doing anything. Just sit there, I'll bring you some tea -- but I gotta text Noct first and tell him what's up. And find him a driver, ‘cause you ain’t going anywhere.”

Then Ignis remembered his mistake: the text on his phone, unanswered. Embarrassingly, he’d forgotten about it immediately. Not that he could have answered satisfactorily anyway; he hadn't been sure what he was supposed to be doing this morning.

He seemed to lose a bit of time for a moment, because he blinked and then Gladio was handing him a warm mug of chamomile, sweetened a little too much with honey. “Drink up,” Gladio said.

Ignis took the mug -- then it occurred to him that Gladio probably knew his schedule and could help him.  “I--” He coughed again, then took a shallow breath. “What am I supposed to be doing right now?”

“Nothing,” Gladio said with a chuckle. “In fact, I’m under orders to make sure, so don’t even think about doing anything.”

“But I--”

“No buts, Ignis. It’s a good thing the king’s onto your habits… you’d be a menace on the road right now. Just relax and rest and get better. And drink that.”

Ignis obediently took a sip. “But I need to figure out--”

He stopped himself just in time. He realized that he had been about to talk about Ardyn… and that would open a whole range of issues he wasn’t prepared to explain.

“If it involves thinking, you probably shouldn’t be doing it right now,” Gladio said.

Gladio was absolutely right, to Ignis’s great chagrin. He sighed in irritation -- which led to another coughing fit. When he finally settled again, he just caught sight of Gladio’s smile before he ducked back into the kitchen.

“Look,” Gladio said, “I don’t think I can finish what you were gonna start in here, but I can definitely make you some cup noodles.”

“No,” Ignis tried to say, but his throat got in the way. No, he  _ didn’t  _ want cup noodles; he wanted soup! Which he could totally make on his own! He set his mug down on the coffee table and started to get up.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Gladio said. He rushed over to him and put a firm hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “Just sit there.”

“No cup noodles,” Ignis rasped. “Just the broth, please; just heat up the--” He devolved into coughing again. 

Gladio gave him an indecipherable look. “Whatever you say,” he said. “Just don’t go anywhere.” Then he disappeared into the kitchen again. 

Ignis picked up his mug of tea and sipped at it, listening to the homey sounds of someone else puttering in his house. It set him a little on edge. But he finished the cloyingly-sweet tea, and then drifted again. He opened his eyes to find himself leaning, glasses askew, against the arm of his sofa. It wasn’t comfortable, so he shifted -- and then he smelt something burning. He pushed himself up from the couch and staggered into the kitchen. 

It was a disaster. Smoke filled the air from a frying pan. The stench of seared daggerquill mingled in a stomach-curdling way with the smell of the stock boiling on the backburner. On the cutting board, the onion sat in crude wedges, the papery yellow outside still attached. Gladio stood at the stove, fork in hand, eyebrows puckered with consternation. He was so completely focused on the smoking mess of blackened daggerquill breasts in the pan that he had failed to notice Ignis… yet. 

Ignis couldn’t watch this trainwreck. Instead, he answered the less-than subtle roiling that had started in his stomach and staggered to the bathroom to vomit noisily. 

When he was done, he carefully wiped his mouth with a tissue and cursed at Ardyn. This was entirely unfair. He had no intention of world-hopping just to experience being ill, and if Ardyn thought he’d choose  _ this  _ unpleasantness just to avoid the wreck of his own world, he had another think coming.

“Ignis?” 

Ignis patiently reminded himself that Gladio really was just trying to help, not inconvenience him by setting fire to his kitchen, and cracked the door open.

Gladio’s look of soft concern was heartwarming. It might have been the only thing that saved him from the full brunt of Ignis’s ire.

“Are you quite done burning my food?” Ignis rasped. He coughed again into his elbow.

“I, uh.” Gladio rubbed the back of his head with a hand, and gave Ignis a sheepish half-smile. “The broth’s okay. You want some?” 

Yes. Yes, Ignis  _ did _ want some broth. Enough not to insult Gladio by asking if he’d added any salt; the broth was, after all, completely unseasoned so he could use it in recipes. Ignis managed to make it back to the couch just in time for Gladio to hand him a mug of broth -- and it was, indeed, just as bland as he’d predicted. He sipped it slowly, in an effort to settle his stomach. He needed the fluids, badly. When he finished, Gladio insisted on tucking him into bed and Ignis didn’t have the energy to fight him. Gladio even closed the drapes for him before leaving.

Ignis lay in bed for some time in a haze, and the only thing that prevented him from sleeping was the occasional fit of coughing. He was drawn out is of his fitful fugue state by a light tap on the door.

"Iggy?" 

"Yes…?"

Gladio entered and stepped close to the bed. "Have you taken anything for this crud yet?"

… He didn't think so. He wouldn't remember anything before waking in this world. And he hadn't seen any medicines sitting out in the kitchen -- though he might have been too distracted to notice. 

"No…?"

Gladio chuckled. "That's not like you. You're definitely not yourself. Hang tight, and I'll get you some."

… Did Ignis imagine the fingers that combed through his hair? He was too tired to be offended.

But then Gladio was gone -- probably fiddling around in the kitchen again. Ignis didn't even care whether or not Gladio was disrupting his order, and that was also not like him. Ignis knew what  _ should _ be in his medicine cabinet, if he was prepared… but had no idea if it was actually there.

Gladio knocked again a little later. "Hey, uh, I found something for the fever, but I can't find anything for the cough. I'm gonna run to the pharmacy. I'll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere!" 

Then Gladio was gone.

Ignis let out the breath he was holding. He supposed he should be exploring his armiger, and the things he'd inadvertently stashed there. He supposed he should test his connection to the crystal.

He supposed those things were important… but in the dazed fog of illness, he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t think, and he certainly couldn’t make sense of anything he found if he tried. Instead he coughed and he sniffled and he dozed fitfully.

Something shifted in the room… and the drapes were thrown open again. Ignis opened his eyes.

Ardyn stood silhouetted in front of the window.

“Such a beautiful day,” he said, looking out at the pouring rain. He turned. “It’s too bad you’re in no fit state to enjoy it.” 

Ignis pushed himself up and glared. “What is the meaning of this?” he rasped.

“It’s just what it looks like,” Ardyn said.

“No--” Ignis inhaled sharply and coughed. “Why here? What’s different about this world?”

“Oh? You’re ill, is all.” 

“That’s not going to last forever, so why--”

“Because it’s amusing, watching your shield friend try to woo you and fail,” Ardyn said.

Ignis had to swallow the next thing he wanted to say. And the next. Ardyn… dropped him in this world… because Gladio…

He sank back into his pillow and turned away. 

“Just… return me to Noctis,” Ignis said, and the weariness in his voice was unfeigned. “I tire of your game.”

“A game, is it?” Ardyn said. “I’ll show you a  _ game.” _ And he snapped his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn, the Gladnis Shipper. >:) _Sadistic_ Gladnis shipper, who apparently likes one-sided pining.


	22. Is This All a Game to You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis encounters a world in which his reality is a fantasy...

Ignis blinked -- and found his eyes focusing on a tube of paper, being thrust toward him. He looked up into a bearded face he didn’t recognize at all. Ignis glanced quickly around. The smart pin-striped button-up and khaki slacks he was wearing fit well in the conference room he stood in. The walls surrounding him were lined with posters for what looked like all variety of… of  _ video games. _ One wall was completely taken up by a white marker board with what looked like someone’s brainstorming scribbled all over it.

“Here, Brad; the poster Keith asked for. Could you take it to his office?”

Ignis hesitated.  _ Brad? _ But he took the offered poster. “Ah… of course.” He unrolled it -- and there was… That was Prompto. Parka-clad but unmistakable, superimposed over a snowy landscape. The bold print over the top proclaimed “Final Fantasy XV: Episode Prompto”. 

Ignis was overwhelmed with utter confusion.  _ What  _ was  _ this??  _

“You know where that is, right?” 

Ignis blinked up at the bearded man. “Err…”

The bearded man laughed -- not unkindly -- and said, “Keith’s office. Well, you’re new, but you’re so sharp I thought you’d have everyone’s desk memorized before you started.”

“Ah…” Ignis said, stumbling over what to say. He was so baffled, he couldn’t come up with anything.

“It’s all right. I’ll show you.” He patted Ignis on the shoulder and turned to leave the conference room. Ignis followed in utter bewilderment, passing windows showing a completely unfamiliar urban skyline. It was a big enough metropolis to rival Insomnia, but looked like no part of the city he had ever seen. 

The bearded man continued to blather on amiably. “Gary said, after he interviewed you, he couldn’t believe how much you resembled Ignis. I think he’s right; it’s absolutely uncanny. Do your hair up the way Ignis does his, and you’d be the spitting image.”

Ignis was too stunned to say anything. He subconsciously raised a hand to finger the hair brushing his forehead.

The bearded man didn’t seem to notice or care; and he was quite affable, so he just ambled on, chatting away until they arrived at “Keith’s Office” and the bearded man ushered Ignis inside with a “Later, Brad! We should do lunch sometime.” 

“Keith” was on the phone, but waved Ignis over and reached a hand out to take the rolled poster. Ignis handed it over automatically. Keith met his eyes without breaking his phone conversation, and saluted with the rolled poster still in-hand. Ignis gave a small smile and waved back, and turned to leave the office.

“Brad, hang on a minute!” Keith said, and Ignis just remembered to stop. He glanced back. 

Keith continued his phone conversation. “Yeah, with the launch coming up, we’re hoping for…” 

Ignis tuned it out, and glanced around the room. More posters -- but one in particular caught his eye. A dusty, desert road, the foothills of Leide and arches of Duscae in the background, and in the foreground… Gladio walking, loaded up with camping equipment; Noctis and Prompto, camera in hand, walking with him… and Ignis himself, driving the Regalia. The top half of it was emblazoned with “FINAL FANTASY XV” in bold lettering.

He stepped towards the poster and raised a hand to the image of himself in the car. He didn’t even notice when Keith joined him.

He jumped when Keith said “I like that one, too.” 

Ignis looked at him -- hoped blindly that his face didn’t show his confusion. 

“I think they should have used it on more of the promo materials,” Keith continued, with a small smile.

“Yes,” Ignis said absently, looking back at the poster. 

“So, I’m Keith,” Keith said, holding a hand out, which Ignis took and shook automatically. “How’s your first day so far?”

Ignis opened his mouth, hoping beyond hope that he’d have an automatic response ready from whatever version of himself this was... but there was no such impulse now. And he felt so very far removed from his element that he had no idea what to say. He mustered a small smile and settled for “I feel like I’m still getting my bearings.”

Keith squinted at him. “Man, Gary wasn’t kidding… you even have his voice. I bet you’ll throw Adam for a loop, when you get to meet him.”

“Pardon… who?” 

“Adam Croasdell? Ignis’s voice actor? You sound just like him.”

Ignis nearly swallowed his tongue. 

“He’ll be around more in the next couple months when we’re ramping up for Episode Ignis; I’ll make sure you get a chance to meet him.” Then Keith set a hand on Ignis’s arm. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you around.”

Ignis had no choice but to follow. Of all the worlds he had visited so far, this one set him the most off-balance. This “Keith” dragged him through an office full of cubicles, introducing him to people with bizarre non-Lucian names like “Steve” and “Jessica” and “Alison” -- a sea of new people, none of whom he recognized. The only familiar faces were on the walls, in posters for what he finally deduced was a  _ video game _ . But that couldn’t be right.

“I heard that Episode Ignis has an alternate ending,” Keith said. “You know, instead of Noct dying?” 

_ “What?”  _ Ignis said, and stopped in his tracks. 

“I know, right?” Keith went on, not noticing that Ignis had fallen behind. Ignis shook himself and then hurried to catch up.

Ignis’s thoughts caught on “instead of Noct dying” and he almost didn’t hear anything else. His mind was flooded with the memory of his feverish dreams after the phoenix down, overlayed with his actual memory of finding Pryna on the pier in Altissia. The flash of vision. Noct -- an  _ older  _ Noct -- pierced through with the weapons of his ancestors. When his brain finally restarted, Keith was saying, “--and there’s apparently some alternate choices and one of them I guess lets Noct live.” 

Ignis’s breath caught.

He had a sudden rush of frantic gratitude for this reality -- this baffling, impossible reality where his  _ life _ was a  _ game.  _ He could be offended about that later… first he needed more information on how he could prevent Noct’s death, and  _ then _ he needed to get  _ home.  _ In truth this time.

“How?” Ignis asked, hoping it was an innocuous enough question.

“I dunno,” Keith said, “But the localization team should be getting the script any minute now, and we’ll definitely know more then.” 

For the first time since being thrown into alternate realities, Ignis hoped that Ardyn would give him more time. Time enough, at least, for him to see the script for this “Episode Ignis”. Who wouldn’t give their eye teeth to know the future? Unless it was a future they didn’t want.

Except… he felt completely adrift. This couldn’t be Eos. He had no idea what the unspoken (or even codified) rules were here. If he stayed to the end of the workday, he would have to go home -- to a place of which he didn’t know the address, in a city he didn’t have the knowledge to navigate.

For that matter, how did this world even qualify as an alternate, when he was apparently not even  _ himself  _ in anything but looks and voice _? _

“Keith!” someone called from down the hallway, and Ignis turned with Keith to face the newcomer. 

“Hey, Alison,” Keith called as she approached, a slight woman with extremely short, extremely curly hair. She held a stack of paper in two hands and sported a wide smile.

“Script just came in,” she said with barely-contained excitement.

“Speak of the devil!” Keith gestured at Alison, then turned to Ignis. “Hey, Brad, could you make copies for all the staff? We’re gonna do a read-through at three, I think. Eleven copies?” 

Allison handed him the stack of pages with a small smile. “Here you go, new guy,” she said.

“Of course,” Ignis answered, and cradled the papers to his chest. He was pretty sure he knew where the copy machine was, from the quick tour they’d had earlier.

“I don’t need to tell you anything about confidentiality, or anything like that, right?” Keith said with a note of warning. 

Taking a gamble, Ignis said, “I’m sure the non-disclosure agreement I signed with my contract was fairly comprehensive,” and he gave a tight smile.

Keith grinned back at him. “Good man,” he said.

Meanwhile, Alison gaped. “Whoa, they weren’t kidding,” she said. “You really do sound just like him.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Ignis murmured. “Pardon me… I have copies to make.”

He turned away without waiting for a response and made his way to the copy room. He had no idea how much time he had, but he had to assume it wouldn’t be much. 

The copy room was blessedly empty, and Ignis plunked the stack of pages into the document feeder and set it to make twelve copies. Twelve, because by hook or by crook, he was taking one of them  _ with him  _ whenever Ardyn spirited him out of this infernal reality. He kept an eye on the door as the copy machine spat out sheaf after sheaf of pages, hoping that no one noticed the discrepancy that surely went against whatever non-disclosure agreement this  _ Brad _ had signed. He picked one of them up and started to thumb through it…

Only to have it snatched out of his hands. He started to protest and reach for it, but when he looked up it was Ardyn. Ardyn scowled at the stack of papers, and then peered up at Ignis. “Surely you didn’t think this would work, did you?” And the pages curled and disappeared in a rush of black flame before Ignis could react. 

“Such an interesting world, this,” Ardyn continued, shaking the soot from his hand. “A world where your desperate struggle is nothing more than entertainment for the insipid.” His lips curled in spiteful amusement.

Ignis had just enough presence of mind to back against the copy machine, which continued to whirr, spitting out more collated copies. He pressed his hands against it and met Ardyn’s eyes. “You think I would wish to stay in a world that is not even Eos?” he said, inching a hand behind him to the stack of scripts. He prayed Ardyn would not notice. 

Ardyn smirked. “Consider it… yet another charming possibility. One in which you no longer have to trail behind royalty, cleaning up his mess. I rather thought it might interest you.”

Ignis curled his fingers around one of the collated stacks. “You thought rather wrong,” he said. Then he willed the pages into the armiger and felt them disappear under his fingers. When Ardyn did not react, he exhaled. “Take me to  _ my  _ Noctis. Now.”

Ardyn’s face darkened, his mouth tightened into a line. “Stubborn, foolish boy.” 

And Ignis felt a fierce satisfaction when Ardyn snapped his fingers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I really know nothing about the gaming industry or localization teams and how they work, so... if I managed even the barest level of verisimilitude, I'm happy. XD


	23. Oh To Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis reverts to childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may (again) have to go back to posting a new chapter every two weeks, for my sanity. x_x This is good for you, dear Reader, because it means I can create a better fic in the long run! But I'm eating up my cushion faster than I'm making new chapters... alas. 
> 
> In the meantime... I'm [on Twitter @avianscribbles](https://mobile.twitter.com/avianscribbles) and [on Tumblr @avianscribe!](https://avianscribe.tumblr.com/)

Ignis blinked -- and had just enough time to register the surrounding darkness and the dusty, damp smell of a cave when a burst of magic of some kind hit him directly in the face. He could tell it was magic by the way it crawled over his skin -- but it didn’t burn or freeze. He sputtered and brushed at his arms, where the worst of the sensation tingled -- and then everything was spinning and he felt himself keeling over.

He thought he heard someone shouting “Prompto!” and someone else shouting “Ignis!” but it was muffled, as though he was hearing it through a tunnel.

He didn’t feel himself hit the ground, but when his vision swam into focus again, that’s where he was. He rolled over and groaned -- but his voice didn’t sound right. His eyes fluttered open. His glasses had fallen off his face and were nowhere to be seen, and… he appeared to be swimming in fabric. He sat up, pushing against the stony ground, and tried to find his hands in the sea of cloth, but it was useless. Inexplicably, he could feel panic rising.

He tried breathing evenly to calm himself but he couldn’t control it; his breath came in short, sharp bursts no matter what he did. He scrambled backward only for the fabric to tighten around him -- and then someone’s lamp was shining in his eyes. He squinted and put a hand up -- a hand covered now in purple coeurl print.

He spread his fingers under the fabric to get a better look in the light. Then he looked down at himself again.

_…_ It was _his_ shirt. But that was impossible, because it was big enough to fit a… well, not quite a behemoth, but certainly someone bigger than _he_ was. The collar barely hung onto his shoulders, the first button sitting somewhere near his navel -- his little skull pendant hanging much further down than his clavicles. And there was his jacket, pooled underneath him, with his lamp still clipped to its front. Something was dreadfully wrong, and his breath was coming faster, and...

He couldn’t panic. He gulped a deep breath.

“I...iggy??”

Ignis squinted up.

It was Gladio, and somehow, he was enormous. And utterly gobsmacked, from the look on his face. He towered over Ignis and stared, eyes wide as saucers.

“What...?” Ignis blurted -- but it came out a tiny squeak. He clapped a cloth-covered hand over his mouth. It… it was as though he was a child again, with a child’s voice. He looked down again at himself -- and he could see it now. Not the carefully-maintained physique he was accustomed to, but a soft, baby-fat belly. His shirt, that was perfect for an adult man, flowed past his feet -- because  _ he was a child. _ From his size, his body was that of… a three- or four-year-old.

“Prompto!?” Noct’s incredulous voice rang from another part of the cave… followed by a toddler’s burble.

Ignis’s jaw dropped. He felt his lower lip tremble.

This was absolutely impossible. What kind of daemon had magic that could  _ reverse your age? _ They’d never encountered anything like that before, and he could remember nothing like that in any of the bestiaries or daemon registers he’d looked at. But now… How was he to be expected to do  _ anything  _ in a  _ child’s  _ body? How was he supposed to figure out anything about changing the Chosen King’s destiny or be of any help to his companions  _ like this? _ Ardyn was completely  _ insufferable,  _ was  _ punishing _ him, and it… it  _ wasn’t fair. _

He did the most reasonable thing he could manage, in this tiny body that wasn’t built for adult emotions or reasoning.

He burst into tears.

“No, no… it’s okay, buddy,” Gladio said, half-chuckling, and leaned over him. Gladio’s hands very nearly wrapped fully around Ignis’s ribcage. And then Gladio lifted him up in a smooth movement that pulled Ignis straight out of the trousers he’d been wearing, and his briefs slipped clean off his hips.

In utter mortification, Ignis could only cry harder.

Gladio swaddled the long button-up around him and tucked him in close to his chest, wrapping huge, gentle arms around him. Ignis tried to calm himself, but it was all still just too much. He clutched at Gladio’s jacket and cried into his chest.

After a minute of Gladio murmuring comforting things and rubbing his back with his massive hand, Ignis’s sobbing faded into tearful sniffles, and he tried to push away. Through his tears, Ignis saw Noctis approaching, arms fully extended, his hands wrapped around the torso of what looked like a two-year-old -- younger, perhaps.

“Uhh… we have a problem,” Noctis said, grimacing at… was that Prompto? Chubby and blonde, with Prompto’s tank top hanging off him, the hem so low Ignis couldn’t see the toddler's feet. So Ignis wasn’t the only one affected by this strange magic… and Gladio and Noctis were left taking care of two  _ infants. _ At least Gladio had a younger sibling and the experience that came with it. Noct, on the other hand, an only child and royal to boot -- with Ignis in no state to help him. Anxious frustration swelled up inside him and Ignis couldn’t stop the tears from starting again.

_ “Ya think?” _ Gladio said over Ignis’s bawling. And now that they were closer, tiny Prompto craned his head around to peer with wide eyes at Ignis. As soon as their eyes met, Prompto’s lips started to quiver, and pretty soon, he started wailing, too.

“Tell me we have some remedies,” Noctis pleaded.

“Sorry, Princess.” The huge voice rumbled through Ignis’s whole body, pressed as he was against Gladio’s chest. “We used the last one when that naga turned you into a toad.”

Because of  _ course _ they didn’t have remedies. Again. Because who would think that you’d need to stock enough important curatives for… It was the same frustration again, and it only made Ignis cry harder.

“We've gotta get out of here,” Noctis said.

“Where’d  _ this  _ daemon go?”

“I dunno, it vanished after it hit these two.”

“Okay,” Gladio said, and heaved a sigh that vibrated Ignis from head to toe. “First priority… get out of here. Then we’ve gotta get to a caravan or something and see if we can’t find a remedy. And  _ you _ need to learn how to hold a kid, because  _ that _ ain’t it.”

Noctis still held Prompto at arm’s length, eyeing him with skepticism. Prompto, meanwhile, wailed and squirmed, grasping towards Noctis. He clearly disliked being held over open air. “But what if he… He’s not wearing a diaper!”

“Tough noogies, Princess.”

“At least let  _ me _ carry  _ Ignis. _ He looks older.”

“Yeah, and heavier too. Anyway, it might not make a difference. You can carry Prompto; just -- get his clothes and anything he was carrying in the armiger and let’s get out of here.”

The thought that Gladio thought for an instant that Ignis might  _ actually  _ soil himself made his face burn with indignation. He glared up at Gladio. “I’m not a  _ baby!” _ he said fiercely. At least, as fiercely as he could. His tiny voice wavered and he had just managed to stop crying and he was so exasperated that it was a struggle not to start again.

Noctis made a choking sound. “Did he just…  _ Six, that was so cute.” _ Noctis was  _ giggling. _

Then Ignis couldn’t help it anymore. Tears started anew, and this time he was infuriated -- and tiny, and impotent, and even though he pushed against Gladio so he could sock Noctis in the kneecap, Gladio just held him tighter in his gentle vice grip and laughed too. “Hold on, buddy, where do you think you’re going?”

And there was no way Ignis could escape Gladio’s behemoth grip, so he just went limp and broke into sobs. Prompto wailed too, though Ignis was aware in his periphery of Noctis trying to wrap Prompto’s shirt around his backside and mimic the way Gladio was holding Ignis.

“Hey, what’s this on Prompto’s wrist?” Noct said.

“We’ll look at it closer when we won’t have daemons breathing down our necks,” Gladio said, picking up the rest of Ignis’s things in a giant wad and tossing them in the armiger  _ like a complete barbarian. _ “Time’s not on our side. Let’s get out of here.”

And so they went. As they did, Ignis’s furious weeping dwindled to hiccups, and he found himself drifting off under a punishing wave of weariness, rocked by Gladio’s steady gait. Prompto’s cries faded as well. Ignis lost time for a bit, as he dozed against Gladio’s chest… but then Gladio’s movements changed, and his rumbly voice woke Ignis with a quick “Look sharp.” Gladio swiftly set Ignis behind what felt like a large boulder. “Wait here, Iggy,” Gladio said. “Stay out of sight.”

Ignis rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and peered at Gladio’s retreating back. Then Noctis set Prompto next to him. “Stay safe, you two, and don’t go anywhere!” He turned, too, and summoned his Engine Blade…

And took the light with him. Neither Prompto nor Ignis had their lamps.

Prompto made a move to follow, and Ignis grabbed at him. “Wait, Prompto,” he said, and pushed the smaller boy back into the corner. Prompto whimpered at him, but seemed to understand. Ignis positioned himself in front, but he quickly recognized that there was little he could do. He doubted he could  _ fight _ as a child. The best he could do was keep Prompto from endangering himself.

Then they could hear Noctis and Gladio fighting. Every so often, one or the other of them would come into view -- the glow of their lamps, the after-image of Noctis warping -- and the sound of fighting faded, then grew louder. Ignis finally reflexively reached for the armiger, to summon his daggers…

And found  _ nothing. _

Even though he rationalized that in his current body the daggers would have been too heavy to  _ hold _ , much less use, the shock of not being able to access them at  _ all _ terrified him. Had something happened to Noct? To  _ his _ Noct? Or was the daemon’s magic preventing him? He backed against Prompto, with nothing to do but wait.

Soon the sound of fighting died down, and Ignis could hear Noctis and Gladio’s voices approaching again. They popped into view. “Okay, guys, c’mon,” Gladio said, and reached for them. Ignis came out hesitantly, and let himself be lifted again; and Noctis picked up Prompto.

“Gross, he’s  _ wet.” _

“The sooner we get out of here,” Gladio said.

Noctis still took the time to change Prompto into another t-shirt he pulled from the armiger before they continued.

They weren’t far from the cave’s mouth, thankfully, and also not far from the car -- though Gladio had to retrieve the keys from Ignis’s trousers in the armiger. Then Gladio set a towel down across the back seat and secured Ignis and Prompto in a seatbelt together, grumbling all the while about not having packed car seats.

“We didn’t need them,” Ignis said.

Gladio looked at him in surprise. “No, we weren’t expecting to. You guys sit tight and don’t get out of the buckle.

Ignis drew himself up angrily. “I may be small, but I’m not stupid, Gladiolus Amicitia.”

Noct wheezed and turned away, coughing.

Gladio’s mouth did that twisty thing that Ignis recognised -- the one that meant he was barely holding back a laugh himself. He glanced between Ignis and Prompto, who was drooling and stuffing a fist as far into his mouth as he could get it. “You’re right,” he said finally, but his voice was tight with laughter.

Ignis scowled. Being treated like a child was highly irritating, and he was sure it wasn’t going to stop until the effects of whatever this was wore off.

He just wondered why Prompto’s  _ behavior _ had regressed so much, and his had not.

Gladio sat in the back with the two of them, and Noctis drove. They reached the nearest caravan at nightfall -- and Ignis managed to stay awake in the car the whole way, though Prompto quickly had fallen asleep and was even now leaning heavily against Ignis’s side. And Ignis suspected that he had again soiled himself and was intensely glad that Gladio had thought to put down a towel.

… Ignis was also beginning to feel an increasing need to attend to his own bodily functions, and realized that he was now wiggling in his seat. Perhaps he had regressed as well, and was just trying to deny it. The thought frustrated him even more.

And he didn’t quite stop himself before Gladio noticed.

“Ready for a pit stop?” he asked.

Ignis scowled at him. “I think we  _ all _ are,” he said, and pointed to Prompto, who was just now waking, now that Noctis had pulled to a stop.

Gladio chuckled. “Hang on a tick and I’ll get him out first.”

Then Noctis went and rented the caravan from the station’s office, and Gladio pulled a sodden and grumpy Prompto from the car. Ignis maneuvered himself out as well as he could without touching the wet spot Prompto had left behind on the towel, incredibly grateful that it hadn’t reached him. Then Ignis quietly danced in place while he waited for Noctis to unlock the caravan -- and rushed past him and bolted inside to the toilet as soon as the door was open.

“Whoa!” Noctis said in his wake.

He made it to the bathroom in time and only had a little trouble with the huge shirt drowning him… he shucked it off as fast as he could and then… relief.

Outside, he heard Noctis saying “So how come Ignis can do  _ that  _ and Prompto’s…”

Gladio grunted in response. Ignis imagined a shrug. “They’re a year and a half apart from each other, right?” he said. “A couple years can make a big difference at their age. And kids develop differently.”

“So I guess Ignis has always been a little adult, even when he was small…”

Ignis sighed. Then he washed his hands as best he could (he could barely reach the tap), and started pulling on his shirt, so at least  _ something  _ was covering him. As he did, he thought about what he should do next. He was… so tired. He suspected part of that was being in a three-year-old’s body. He probably should have allowed himself to sleep in the car, but at the time it had felt important to stay awake.

But he had no idea what to do now. He had that script from that strange world where his life was a game, and he had hoped to find clues in it, if he could manage to keep Ardyn from noticing he had it. But if he couldn’t access the armiger, he couldn’t get to it.

He heard shuffling outside, as he guessed Gladio and Noctis were taking care of Prompto. Someone ran water at the sink, someone (Gladio?) muttered about doing laundry.

Ignis was just wishing again that he could pull a belt from the armiger so he could cinch his shirt up so he wasn’t treading on it when he heard Noctis say “Hey, look at this…”

“Is that... a  _ bar code?” _ Gladio said in a hushed tone of horror.

What could be alarming about a  _ bar code? _ Ignis reached for the door handle so he could find out what they were talking about.

“Well well,” Ardyn said from behind him, and Ignis yelped and whirled about.

Ardyn stood framed in the shower stall entrance. He was far too close for comfort in the caravan’s tiny bathroom. Ignis backed against the door.

“Aren’t you precious,” Ardyn said, and crouched to Ignis’s eye level. Not that it gave Ignis any comfort. “It looks like you found a time daemon. They roam some of these worlds.”

“Turn me  _ back!”  _ Ignis said, despairing inside at how his tiny voice wavered. He pressed against the door and tried to will himself to stop trembling.

“D’aww. You make such an adorable child. It’s too bad you grow up.” Ardyn stood. “You’ll be right as rain as soon as you leave this world -- though perhaps you might want to stay, and enjoy the doting attention of your friends.”

Ignis’s indignation almost --  _ almost _ \-- overwhelmed his fear. “Take me back to Noctis!  _ My _ Noctis!”

Ardyn smiled cruelly at him.

An abrupt knock at the door made Ignis jump. “Is everything okay in there?” Gladio said.

“Oh my,” Ardyn whispered. “It looks like we’ve worn out our welcome. Shall we then?”

“Take me  _ back!” _ Ignis hissed.

“Oh, but that doesn’t suit me just yet.” 

And just as Gladio pounded on the door again, with a more urgent  _ “Iggy…?” _ Ardyn snapped his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I LOVE de-aged fics. They warm my heart. (Or hurt them, when they deal with Prompto's past...)
> 
> 2) I _love_ Noctis "I've never been around small children" Lucis Caelum not knowing what to do with a baby.
> 
> 3) I just ADORE Big Brother Gladiolus who probably changed dozens of Iris's diapers being the one who just Knows What To Do. X)


	24. Uncle Ardyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis gets introduced to Noctis's strange uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm keeping my every-two-week posting schedule, though I'm finished with my zine deadline that was giving me headaches... (I'm contributing to the Full Bloom Zine -- a flower-themed FFXV charity zine! [Check it out!](https://twitter.com/fullbloomzine)) I'm still eating up my buffer for this fic like a madwoman, while I wrestle the plot into submission. XD

Ignis blinked and rubbed his eyes -- and peered into Noctis’s face. Noctis, who looked the same as he had the day they met… and who blinked at him owlishly. 

“Are you okay, Iggy?” Noctis said, in his tiny, four-year-old voice. 

“I… I think so,” Ignis said, and startled at his own small voice. 

He… he was a child, still. 

He might definitely  _ not _ be fine. He glanced around. They were in the Citadel’s nursery, where he and Noctis would play as children. He knew this room well. 

But he was a child. And this wasn’t a status effect from some strange time daemon; he was an  _ actual _ child, only just older than Noctis, wearing the immaculate button up, shorts, smart shoes and knee-high stockings his parents had sent him to the Citadel in. A mere boy, newly-introduced to his prince, in a place where he grew up, and not in any position of power or influence. All his training as an advisor, all his mastering of weapons would come later. He tentatively reached for the armiger and found nothing, yet again.

He still could do  _ nothing _ as a child. He took a deep breath.

“Don’t you wanna play anymore?” Noctis asked, and his face pinched into a worried frown. 

Ignis looked down at the game board spread between them -- a child’s game they had played often, with bright colors and a segmented pathway that snaked from one end to the other through a fanciful candy landscape. Ignis remembered playing this often with Noctis, especially early on. He’d tired of it quickly, but he had played it anyway, because Noctis loved it, and it was  _ Noct _ . 

He didn’t  _ really _ want to play, but… Ardyn’s warning not to disrupt the world order rang in his mind. “I’ll play,” he said, and Noct’s face instantly brightened. 

Ignis dredged his memory for the rules to the game. He drew a card and then looked down, trying to figure out which of the bright plastic playing pieces was  _ his. _ He started to reach for one of the pieces -- then Noct said, “But that’s mine!” 

“Oh! Sorry,” Ignis said. He took the other piece and moved it to the designated color. 

“Okay, my turn…” And Noctis started reaching for a card of his own -- but then there was a commotion in the hall, and Ignis looked to the door with alarm.

King Regis pushed it open. Tall, regal, still dark-haired -- Ignis almost couldn’t remember seeing him like that. He’d aged quickly afterward. And behind him…

_ Ardyn  _ entered.

He was taller than Regis. He wore a simple button-up and slacks, not his layered thrift-store cast-offs; and his hair was longer, pulled back into a ponytail. Stray locks framed his face on each side. His expression was relaxed. Happy, even; not the pinched, sarcastic smile Ignis was accustomed to seeing.

Every muscle in Ignis’s body tensed. He had half a mind to throw himself at Ardyn, and another half to grab Noctis and flee from the room -- but before he could decide which response was most appropriate, Noctis jumped up.

“Unca Ardyn!” Noctis yelled, and sprinted over and launched himself into Ardyn’s arms -- and the man hoisted him up and twirled him around. 

“Noctis, my boy,” Ardyn said with a laugh. 

Ignis trembled with confusion.  _ Uncle Ardyn? _ What did that  _ mean?? _

Then Ardyn  _ looked  _ at Ignis. “And this must be your chosen advisor,” he said. And his voice had none of the smarm, none of the sarcasm Ignis had learned to expect. He gave Ignis a smile. A normal smile, without any hint of cruelty. 

Ignis wasn’t sure what to do. He opted to hold very still. 

Ardyn put Noctis back on the floor and Noctis grabbed Ardyn’s hand to tug him over. “This is Iggy,” Noctis said. 

Ignis stood. He knew it was expected of him. He wasn’t sure how to respond or what to do, but this much he could manage… even though he flinched with every step that brought Ardyn closer. There was nothing he could do here, with young Noctis and King Regis watching. 

Besides, he was only a child now.

“Iggy, this is Unca Ardyn.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Ignis managed to squeak.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Ardyn said. He knelt down and extended a hand.

Ignis looked at it as though it held a snake. He knew what courtesy demanded, but… he  _ couldn’t. _

“It’s okay.” Noctis said, his small voice gentle with concern. “He won’t hurt you. He only hurts bad people. Right, Unca Ardyn?” 

“And only when they make it necessary,” Ardyn said with a smile. But he let his hand drop and backed away. 

Ignis still did not relax.

“Where have you  _ been?” _ Noctis scolded Ardyn. “You’ve been gone ages and  _ ages.” _

“I know, and I’m awfully sorry. But with things beyond the Wall the way they are, your father thought it might be good for me to go abroad for a bit and see what was stirring up the daemons.”

“And did you find out?”

“I certainly did.” And he winked.

“Wow!” Noctis said. “Tell me all about it!” And he pulled Ardyn over to the nursery’s couch. Regis followed them and stood behind the couch, smiling softly, and Ignis found himself standing alone by the abandoned game, at a loss for what to do. Every nerve was on edge, every sense saying that  _ this was wrong… _ but it all looked so natural, and everyone was smiling.

Ardyn sat on the couch and pulled Noctis into his lap. “Well,” he said dramatically, “You know how the daemons have been massing beyond the Wall…” 

“I heard the guards talking about that!” Noctis was all excitement.

“Well, I went out to see what was happening, and wouldn’t you know, the Empire is making a fuss again.”

“But I thought Grampa Mors stopped them already.” 

“He certainly made a good effort, that’s true.”

“And you helped him.” 

“Of course I did. I’ve helped  _ all _ the kings of Lucis, don’t you know.”

“Now now, Uncle, no need to exaggerate,” Regis cut in.

“Your father  _ thinks _ I’m exaggerating, but it’s true,” Ardyn whispered, and Noctis giggled. “But you know, Emperor Iedolas has a lot of tricks up his sleeve, and this time he decided to make a new army. And he found a bad man to help him. Verstael Besithia. Doesn’t that sound like the name of the  _ worst _ kind of villain?”

“It sure does,” Noctis breathed.

“And this bad man was using the daemons to make  _ soldiers. _ Can you believe that?”

“No way!”

“So your Uncle Ardyn went in and put a stop to it.”

“You told him to stop?” 

“... You could say that.”

Regis cut in. “I think that’s quite enough for one day, if you don’t mind, Uncle,” he said. “No need to go into detail.”

“Of course,” Ardyn said, and laughed when Noctis gave a disappointed groan. 

“Please, Dad?” Noctis whined.

“When you’re older.” Regis’s tone was firm.

Ignis watched this whole exchange from a distance, staring at Ardyn the whole time. But the man seemed genuine. And Noctis legitimately  _ knew  _ him. Ignis thought maybe… maybe this wasn’t  _ his  _ Ardyn. But why had  _ his  _ Ardyn brought Ignis  _ here? _ What could entice him to stay in a world where he was yet a child?

“I brought you a companion,” Ardyn was saying. “You’ll meet him later, perhaps.” He touched Noctis on the nose, and Noctis scrunched his face.

“Later?”

“He’s not feeling too well after his long journey, but he’ll be made right soon -- and when he’s feeling better, perhaps we could arrange a little playdate. He could use some friends.” 

“Promise?” Noct said, clapping his hands together.

“We need to make sure he’s completely well,” Regis said, “But once everything checks out, of course.”

“And he doesn’t have a name yet,” Ardyn said. 

Noct’s eyes went wide. “He doesn’t have a  _ name?” _

“Maybe you can help him come up with something suitable. Do you think you’re ready for a big job like that?”

“I’m going to be king someday,” Noctis said. “I  _ need  _ to be ready for big jobs.”

So simple and serious, coming from the mouth of a child. Ignis’s heart almost broke.

“Then this will be the perfect time to start,” Ardyn said. “You might want to meet him before you decide on one, but perhaps you could be thinking of some good names now, so you’ll have a variety to choose from later.”

“Oh yeah! I can do that.” Noctis hopped off of Ardyn’s lap and ran to the little craft table in the corner, where they kept all their paper and writing instruments. Ignis remembered the long hours they’d spent at that table, constructing worlds out of paper and wax crayon. Part of him  _ longed _ for those simpler times.

A thread of dread sparked in his stomach. He wouldn’t  _ actually  _ be tempted by a world like this… would he?

With paper and crayon in hand, Noctis settled at the table to write. Ignis followed slowly, positioning himself carefully between Noctis and the grown-ups. Meanwhile, Regis rounded the couch to sit near Ardyn, and they started talking in low voices. Ignis edged close enough that he could hear what the adults were saying while still watching Noctis.

“So you weren’t entirely forthcoming about the fate of Besithia’s army, even with me,” Regis said.

“There’s not much to tell,” Ardyn said.

“Surely you’re not absorbing the scourge yourself. You told me you’d stopped that long ago.”

“Of course. This operation required nothing so subtle.” 

Regis squinted at Ardyn. “Tell me I will not be hearing about this on the news,” he said.

Ardyn grinned. “I make no promises.”

Noctis, meanwhile, was humming and happily writing -- and Ignis peered over Noct’s shoulder. The list of names, in his loopy, rough handwriting, was filled with things like ‘Caius’ and ‘Ander’ and ‘Tellus’ -- but among all of them was one familiar one: ‘Prompto’. Ignis blinked at it. Prompto wasn’t a particularly popular name. Since Noctis wouldn’t have met his friend by this age, he must have picked it up from somewhere else. 

But it was curious, what Regis had said about  _ absorbing scourge. _ Ignis had never heard anything that linked Ardyn to the scourge, but in this world, Regis seemed to think that Ardyn had some kind of power over it. A power that Regis didn’t think he should be exercising. Ignis had thought that controlling the scourge was the realm of the Oracle’s line. What Ardyn had to do with that, he had no idea.

But then… Ardyn had been able to take on Gladio’s appearance so completely that it had fooled Ignis. 

And… that bit about King Mors and the Empire was particularly curious.

He turned his attention back to the adults’ conversation.

“... and after that it was easy to destroy the facility,” Ardyn was saying. 

“You  _ blew up _ the Empire’s Magitek Research Facility?” Regis almost sounded angry, even though he kept his voice low. “How are we going to avoid the political repercussions?”

“I know what I’m about,” Ardyn said. “I left nothing to suggest that Lucis could be in any way responsible.”

“You made it look like an accident,” Regis said, low and skeptical. 

“Naturally.”

“And the boy?” 

“He’s young, and the young are resilient.” Ardyn leaned back. “He will have a long rehabilitation, but having friends his age will help.” Then Ardyn looked straight at Ignis, who looked away. “Though the young advisor seems particularly nervous. I hope he’ll be up to it.” 

Ignis’s face burned with mortification. He almost wished he hadn’t been listening… but he didn’t want anything Ardyn did to go unnoticed.

“He’ll rise to his office,” Regis said with confidence. “We only just introduced them this week, you know, and they are already inseparable.” 

“Ah, most excellent,” Ardyn said thoughtfully. “He… seems particularly nervous around me.” 

“You’re new to him,” Regis said. “He’ll come around. But I’m quite pleased he’s taking his role as Noct’s Hand so seriously.”

“Oh?” 

“He’s been paying attention to you since the moment you came in the room. And whenever Noctis hasn’t been attached to you, he’s been placing himself between the two of you. That’s an excellent instinct.”

Ignis was suddenly self-conscious. He  _ had _ been doing that. It was old habit. He saw Ardyn as a threat, naturally, no matter how congenial he appeared right now. And Regis was extremely observant. Ignis  _ knew _ this already; he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Well,” Ardyn said, “Let’s leave the children to their games. I have a young charge of my own to check up on.” And he stood.

Regis stood with him. “And I need to meet with my intelligence people. You’ve given me some information I believe they will want to know.” 

“Shall we, then?”

“Indeed.” 

And they left.

Ignis watched the door close behind them. Then he turned to watch Noctis. He was writing very carefully -- though his letters still needed improvement -- and was very focused, with his tongue poking out of his mouth and his brow furrowed with concentration. Ignis tried not to sigh, and glanced around the rest of the room. This was going to get tiresome quickly.

“I can’t believe this kid doesn’t have a  _ name,” _ Noctis said thoughtfully. “Who doesn’t get a  _ name  _ when they’re  _ born?” _

“No one I know,” Ignis said absently. 

He had to think. In this world,  _ Ardyn _ had helped  _ King Mors _ turn back the Empire. And had some power over the Starscourge, Astrals knew how. King Regis and Prince Noctis both called him  _ uncle. _ And he said he’d helped  _ all _ the kings of Lucis -- though Regis had thrown some doubt on that. 

How was  _ this  _ Ardyn… like his  _ own? _ Ardyn couldn’t possibly be old enough to have been a person of any influence whatsoever during King Mors’ reign.

He was thinking so hard about this that he almost didn’t hear the door open. Noctis looked up. “Unca Ardyn! You’re back already? How come you’re dressed so weird?”

Ignis looked -- and blanched, because  _ this  _ was the Ardyn he knew. The outfit, the cruel smile, the swagger as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

“My dear boy, I’m only here to speak with your young advisor. We will be but a moment.” And Ardyn beckoned to Ignis. 

Ignis realized that he’d planted himself firmly between Ardyn and Noctis as soon as Ardyn had entered. He glanced back at the prince, who met his eyes with innocent curiosity. Ignis needed to get Ardyn as far from Noctis as possible. And so, despite every nerve in him howling in protest, he followed Ardyn out into the hallway. 

As soon as the nursery door closed behind him, Ignis backed against it. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ hurt Noctis!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ardyn purred. Then he glanced around the hallway. “Such an  _ interesting  _ world. A world in which Lucis has the upper hand -- where the war has minimal influence on Insomnia. Where the Wall protects so many more of the outer lands -- and daemons exist, but are well in hand.”

“Because of  _ you, _ it seems,” Ignis said, and Ardyn’s head snapped to face him, eyes flashing. “Who  _ are _ you?” Ignis pressed. “You called yourself a man of no consequence before, but I don’t believe it.”

“Didn’t I say?” Ardyn said. “Chancellor of Niflheim, at your service.”

Ignis squinted at him. No mere Chancellor of Niflheim could do what Ardyn was doing. Ignis had long ago discarded that pretense as a ruse.

“How are you connected to the House of Lu--”

“This is tiresome,” Ardyn interrupted. “And I don’t believe it would suit me to leave you here after all.” 

“But--” Ignis started, just as Ardyn snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn is _totally_ that crazy weird uncle who is so cool but the adults always look at him sideways and wonder if he's really a good influence on the kids. (Except when he's being a murderous, sadistic jerk.)


	25. The Girl in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things aren't that different (EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags...

Ignis blinked… and found himself sitting at the dining table in Noct’s apartment. He grasped the side of the table in urgent relief. He was no longer a  _ child, _ thank the Astrals -- and nothing was about to kill him here, either. He quickly reminded himself that immediate safety didn’t mean that everything would be  _ normal --  _ far from it. The last time he’d been in Noct’s apartment _ , _ Prompto had been coughing up flowers -- and the time before that, he and Noctis had turned out to be werewolves. He would have to be on the lookout for whatever made this world different. 

He leaned against the table for some moments, thinking about all he’d learned. Ardyn had some kind of control over the scourge, and was somehow linked to the Lucis Caelums. That he’d interrupted Ignis in the process of asking pretty much guaranteed it. 

Based on his reaction, those were things Ardyn was trying to hide. Which led to the question of how much Ardyn knew beforehand of the worlds in which he dropped them. Ignis smiled grimly at the thought that Ardyn might regret what Ignis was learning in some of them. 

Ignis quickly scanned the papers spread out in front of him. Council reports. Everything was laid out in organized stacks, according to his own familiar filing system. Based on the rich smell permeating the apartment, something savory was baking -- a lasagna, perhaps.

But… something wasn't right.

He couldn't tell what it was; the chair feeling off, something about his clothes, a weight on his head. There was a band around his chest -- it reminded him a little of the concealed holster he had briefly trained with, except this band also wound all the way around his torso, rather than just looping over his shoulders. It wasn’t comfortable at all.

The reports before him… It looked like he was preparing summaries for Noct’s review, as usual; one of his most important yet futile assignments when Noctis had been in school. Noctis needed to review everything in them, but often paid little to no attention to them. Ignis eyed them dismissively.  He had the precious script for “Episode Ignis” waiting in the armiger, which might hold the key to countering Noct's ordained fate. Hiding it in this pile of work might not draw Ardyn's notice. Not that he could tell when Ardyn was watching, but he honestly felt he had nothing to lose.

Mentally, he reached… and both the armiger and his vast connection to the Crystal opened for him. Heartened, he exhaled. He would have to analyze his access to the Crystal’s power another time. For now… he flourished his wrist under the table, giving that familiar mental tug, and to his satisfaction, the stack of paper fell into his hand. He slid it into a hanging file folder that was sitting empty next to his elbow. Then he opened it and flipped through the first few pages. 

Descriptive paragraphs set the scene. He didn’t need it; he could already see it in his mind’s eye: the grand architecture of Altissia, much of it laid low and crumbling. Himself, coming to, clinging to a beam floating in a canal. 

He skimmed forward. The familiarity of his own words laid out in script format was more than a little unsettling. He knew all these events from his own experience. His wandering through Altissia alone. His tactical exploration of the city. His exchanges with Secretary Claustra and Weskham were familiar, if abbreviated; the same with his discussion with Gladio and Prompto, although they  _ had _ been quite preoccupied with staying alive. 

His encounter with Ravus. Their tenuous alliance. 

He was nearly three quarters through the script, and nothing stood out yet. It was all the same as his actual experiences. As he drew closer to the point at which Ardyn had spirited him away, his excitement grew. Soon -- soon he would know how the paths diverged, and would be better informed and able to plan. Somehow he would make it through this. Somehow he would save Noctis. 

But the longer he sat, the more the band around his chest drew attention to itself, pressing against his ribcage and digging into his sides under his arms. He shifted a little, trying to relieve the pressure, but it didn’t work.  _ What in the name of the Astrals was he wearing? _ He pursed his lips and scowled. 

He jumped when he heard the apartment door open, and quickly sent the folder holding the script away into the armiger. Then Noct's familiar tread echoed through the hallway. 

At least, Ignis thought it was the prince, until Noctis actually appeared in the doorway, dressed in the school's  _ female uniform  _ and wait, his hair was too long -- falling in black cascades past his shoulders -- and his chest in the button-up shirt had a roundness to it that it shouldn't have and then Noctis opened his mouth and in a voice at least an octave higher than it should be said, “Hey, Iggy.”

“N…  _ Noct??” _

And then Ignis knew something was terribly wrong because his own voice was also several registers higher than it should be as well. He stood with a jolt and mumbled an all-too-treble “Excuse me…” then found himself stumbling down the hallway to the bathroom. The shoes he was wearing were far from adequate, definitely painful -- and  _ stilettos.  _ He yanked them off his feet and rushed the rest of the way. He pulled the door closed behind him and held the knob for several heartbeats, not daring to turn around.  

No, no… It couldn’t be. Ardyn  _ wouldn’t. _

He whirled around to look in the mirror.

A tall, long-haired, undeniably  _ curvy _ young woman in a white button-up and slacks stared back at him with  _ his own eyes. _ Her mouth hung open, her eyebrows arched almost to her hairline, and her green eyes were wide with something bordering panic.

He dropped the shoes and put a hand to his cheek… and the girl in the mirror did the same. He could see the angles of his own face, but softened, in hers… the high cheekbones, the square-ish jaw, but less angular. The same beauty marks. Her hair was done up neatly, braided and then pulled up in a bun, and pinned with sticks. And… she was quite well-endowed. 

Ignis almost --  _ almost -- _ gave in to the impulse to  _ touch  _ them to see if they were real. He stopped himself -- and in the mirror, the girl’s hands hovered over her own chest, her fingers twitching. Ignis’s face burned -- and the girl that was apparently  _ Ignis _ in this reality blushed from her neckline to her hair. A familiar skull pendant nestled in the dimple between her clavicles… and a scant inch of cleavage barely peeked out from under the first button.

Distantly, Ignis had the stray thought that if Gladio had been in this situation he would probably have stripped and brazenly ogled himself, but Ignis had nothing like Gladio’s taste in adult literature and had no  _ intention. _ Instead, he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the squeak that came out -- that would have been a scream, if he hadn’t been extremely conscious of Noctis’s presence in the apartment. 

There was a soft sound outside the bathroom door. “Specs?” Noctis said in that disconcerting high voice. “Is… everything okay?” 

Nothing was okay. 

“I’m fine,” Ignis said, but his high voice wavered.

Noctis was silent for several seconds. “Uh, you’re kind of a terrible liar, but okay. I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”

He heard Noctis walk away. He sank to the floor and hugged himself.  _ Himself; _ he was still  _ himself  _ no matter what his shape. But this explained a lot of what hadn’t felt right -- his shorter build that didn't fit in the chair the same way, his longer hair that weighed on his head… the strange band around his chest was clearly a  _ bra _ and wasn’t THAT a horrifying thought and he was in no way prepared to explore all the differences -- things that he shouldn’t have, things that were  _ missing.  _

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, trying to process what had happened, feeling completely disconnected from his body. He stood again finally, and leaned against the wall, trying to avoid looking at his reflection. He summoned his daggers, just to feel their familiarity in his palms. They looked the same as always. Felt the same. He let them go back into the armiger and heaved a shuddering sigh.  _ He was the same. _

Someone pounded on the door and he barely suppressed a yelp. 

“Hey, Iggy!” 

_ That _ rough alto voice was Gladio, Ignis had no doubt. 

“Y… yes?” Ignis answered. 

“Noct was worried about you,” Gladio said. “Texted me to come over.” 

_ “What?”  _

“It’s not like you to hide away in the bathroom. Can I come in?”

“NO! Ah… no, I’m fine… I’ll be right out.” 

If  _ this  _ Gladio was anything like his own, she’d have no issue with kicking a door open, and Ignis wasn’t keen to deal with the aftermath of that. With a last searching look at the girl in the mirror, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Female Gladio waited in the hall, arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t quite the impossibly tall wall of muscle his own Gladio was, but she still towered over him, solid and imposing. She wore a cut-off tank-top that bared her midriff, showing off her defined abs. She had the beginnings of the signature Amicitia tattoo, and the tender-looking score of a healing scar down her face. Her hair wasn’t quite the mullet that Gladio wore, but it was deeply layered, the longest bits of it falling to her shoulders.

“Care to tell me what this is about?” Gladio said. It was… unnerving, hearing a higher version of Gladio’s voice coming out of a stubble-less face. 

“It’s nothing,” Ignis insisted, shaking his head. “I’m just…”

_ “Nothing? _ You were in there for twenty minutes -- enough time for me to jog over here -- and it’s  _ nothing?” _

“No, I--”

Gladio scowled “That Crownsguard dude isn’t harassing you again, is he? I’ll  _ really  _ bust his chops this time.”

Ignis gaped. He had no idea -- certainly this Ignis would have reported something like that to superiors.  _ Surely _ the Crownsguard dismiss someone with a history of harassment. Still, that was hardly the issue now. “No, I--” 

Then Gladio’s eyebrows rose and her mouth made a little ‘o’. “You, ah, riding the crimson tide?”

For a moment Ignis had no idea what she could mean. Then he remembered overhearing the euphemism in hushed conversations and it occurred to him what it referred to. His face burned afresh and he knew he was blushing but couldn’t stop himself.  _ “No,” _ he hissed. Though honestly, he had no idea  _ and no intention of finding out. _

Gladio side-eyed him. “Ooookay,” she said. “I think you need a treat.  I’ll go motivate Princess to change out of her uniform and you clear up that paper mess on the table and we’ll go out.” 

Ignis did not want to go out. Going out meant putting those torture devices masquerading as shoes back on his feet, and he had no desire to do that. “But… the food…” he tried to protest.

Gladio put an arm around his shoulders and gave a squeeze. “It’ll be fine; it’s still got enough time that we can go get ice cream or something. C’mon, it’s on me.”

Ignis sighed. “All right,” he mumbled, then pulled away and headed into the kitchen. Noctis was on the couch -- not quite lounging; she sat appropriately for the knee-length skirt -- with a math textbook open in her lap. She peered up at Ignis with concerned curiosity in her face. 

“C’mon, Nocturna,” Gladio said. “Close the books; we’re going out. Go get changed.”

_ Nocturna?  _ Ignis thought. Was that his -- er,  _ her  _ \-- name now?

Noct closed the textbook all too eagerly and headed for her room. Ignis looked at the table-full of council reports and notes, and ever-so-reluctantly began sorting everything together and piling it on the corner of the table. Neatly, and according to his filing system. He was careful enough that Noct had exchanged her uniform for a black t-shirt and knee-length cut-offs before Ignis was done. Gladio gave a quick “We’ll wait for you in the car,” and preceded Noct out the door. 

Ignis sighed when they left. He wanted to spend as little time in this world as possible. He wanted Ardyn to show up  _ Now. _ Certainly before Ignis needed to avail himself of the facilities. He had  _ no desire  _ to navigate that. 

At last there was no more for him to sort and pile, and he had to go back into the bathroom to retrieve the stilettos. He picked them up from where they’d been pushed behind the door. He eyed them skeptically. They might look nice, but he could barely balance on them when they were on his feet, and he wanted to wear them as little as possible. 

Before he left the bathroom he looked again in the mirror. The girl he saw looked weary.  _ He _ was that girl… he just had to accept it. For now.

He put his shoes on finally just before he opened the door to leave. He stood in them a moment, feeling how they changed his balance on his feet. He couldn’t imagine wearing things like this every day. It completely threw off his center of gravity, and he couldn’t help the wobble in his ankles when he stood on them. The walk down to the main floor was going to be a challenge. He was not looking forward to it -- nor to explaining to the others why he was suddenly unable to walk in heels. 

He left the apartment and stepped gingerly down the hallway, taking care with his balance, trying not to twist an ankle as he walked. He was nearly to the elevator, eyes on his feet, when he heard a shift of fabric in front of him. 

“Well well well, what have we here.” 

Ignis looked up and froze. Ardyn leaned casually against the elevator. He pushed away from the elevator door as soon as Ignis met his eyes. 

Ignis couldn’t quite believe how  _ tall  _ Ardyn was _. _

“Fascinating.” Ardyn said, and he slowly advanced, his steel-toed boots clacking against the tiled floor.

Ignis backed away.

“Such an intriguing world, this,” Ardyn purred. “I wonder how deep this change goes.” 

“Get me  _ out of here,”  _ Ignis hissed.

“So soon? But you only just arrived. Surely you need more time to think about it.”

“I don’t need more time,” Ignis said. “I need to get out of here.” He didn’t like how desperate he sounded, and he liked even  _ less _ how trapped he felt. His back bumped against the wall behind them and then there was nowhere else he could go. Ardyn was getting far too close for his liking. 

Ignis stiffened and flexed a hand to summon a dagger, but before he could, the elevator opened, and Gladio stepped out. Ignis met her eyes around Ardyn’s shoulder. Her face immediately darkened, and she glared at the back of Ardyn’s head. “Hey, you!” she yelled. “Get away from her, you creep!” And she stomped towards them.

Ardyn turned just in time for Gladio to punch him in the face. Gladio then grabbed Ignis’s arm and yanked him with her towards the elevator. Ignis stumbled on the stilettos and reached down to pull them off his feet. 

That gave Ardyn just enough time to straighten and wipe at the black sludge that had started to drip from his nose. “You’re quite the fierce one,” he said. 

“Yeah?” Gladio countered. “There’s more where that came from. You’d better get the hell out of here or--”

“That’s quite enough now,” Ardyn said testily, and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired in part by doomherald's gorgeous genderswap designs [here](http://noctisorgy.tumblr.com/post/162002161731/doomherald-long-time-no-art-here-are-some) and [here](https://chocobro-squad.tumblr.com/post/157001386238/doomherald-some-ffxv-swaps-theyre-really)...!


	26. A Sylleblossom to Remember You By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis has an unexpected conversation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, technically I should be waiting to post until next Wednesday, but I'm terribly impatient this week, for some reason. So it's a tad early, but here it is! Have some plot!

Ignis blinked -- and found himself sitting to a classic Tenebraean tea. The fine porcelain set was edged with an intricate floral design, and the tiered tray in front of him held all sorts of delicacies. A small plate in front of him held scattered crumbs and half of a dainty sandwich, and he held a half-full cup almost to his lips… 

He was  _ himself  _ again, he could tell immediately. He felt right in his own skin. The cascade of desperate relief he felt shouldn’t have made his breath catch in his throat, but it did.

Then his eyes focused on Lady Lunafreya, sitting primly across from him. “I want to thank you again for escorting me out of Insomnia, Ignis,” she was saying. She raised her cup to her lips, took a sip, and peered at him over the rim. 

He swallowed and lowered his cup. He couldn’t show his shock, he couldn’t. “You’re welcome,” he managed -- comforted again that his voice was the right timbre, while he tried to accept Lunafreya being here. Being  _ alive. _ He tried not to remember how he last saw her: dead in her brother’s arms. 

“Without you, I could…” She hesitated. “I could never have reached the city borders. For that, and for all the horrors you had to endure… I thank you.”

He had lived through the assault on Insomnia, then. He had lived, and escorted Lady Lunafreya from the city. He winced internally, remembering the photos he’d seen in the press reports of the city’s destruction. He wondered what he’d been through, in this world. In his own, they hadn’t had the chance to talk to Lunafreya about her experiences escaping the city… and they never would. Through the sudden rise of sorrow, he said, “It was my pleasure.” 

She smiled. “Your assistance through Lucis was invaluable to me; I could never have made it through my communion with the Archean and the Fulgarian without your help.” 

She hadn’t needed anyone’s help in their own world, so he wondered what kind of assistance he could possibly have given her. “I only did what was right,” he said. He was sure that he had. 

“I only regret…” Lady Lunafreya trailed off, eyes distant. “If only we had been able to see Noctis before now,” she said at last.

Ignis lowered his eyes, then chanced a glance to the windows, and felt a shock of recognition… that was the skyline of  _ Altissia. _

“Noctis should be here soon,” Lady Lunafreya was saying. “You’ll be able to rejoin your companions.”

Ignis swallowed his anguish. He knew too much about what would happen to Lady Lunafreya in Altissia. He wondered if his presence with her in this world would effect a change -- if he would be able to alter her fate. But... if he was with Lunafreya… Wasn’t she held here by Accordo, under threat of the Empire? Did that mean that he, too, was under Imperial watch?

He did some quick thinking. If he had escorted Lunafreya from Insomnia onward, then… Did that mean that Noctis had been without him this whole time? How was Noct faring without him? 

Anxiety joined his heartache. 

From seemingly nowhere, Gentiana stepped up behind Luna, and smiled. Her eyes were closed, as usual. “The King’s Hand seems out of sorts,” she said. “Perhaps it would be good for him to retire.”

“Of course,” Luna said. “I believe the Secretary has prepared a suite for your use, Ignis. Shall I summon someone to guide you?” 

Gentiana placed a hand on Luna’s shoulder. “Let the messenger attend to him,” she said, “and see him to his rest.”

Luna blinked in subtle astonishment -- and then smiled and nodded. “Very well, then.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said. “For the tea.”

“Join me again at dinner,” Luna said. “I would very much appreciate your company.”

“I should be delighted,” Ignis said, and stood. He headed for the door.

Gentiana followed close behind and closed the door after her once they had stepped into the hallway. Then she turned to Ignis.

He just looked at her. He’d had few opportunities to speak to her at all, let alone interact with her outside of Noctis’s company. He knew she was a Divine Messenger in service to the Oracle, but that was all. He had no idea what to say to her, or what to expect from her. And Lunafreya had seemed just as surprised as he was that Gentiana should wish to address him so directly. He didn’t know what he should do, so he waited.

“The King’s Hand has traveled far,” Gentiana said. 

Ignis cleared his throat. “You could say that.”

Gentiana opened her eyes and studied him. Her piercing gaze and subtle smile sent him shivering. “You are caught in the web of the Accursed,” she said. 

Ignis went numb with shock. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. 

“Fear not, traveler of worlds,” she said. “He will not hear the words spoken. Wards prevent him.” 

“But how?” Ignis said, his voice strained. “He is--”

“The High Messenger does not fear the Accursed,” Gentiana said, her voice firm.

Ignis exhaled -- and with it, the tension he’d been holding for so long, through all these many jumps between worlds, bled from him and he slumped. He caught himself with a hand against the wall. 

Meanwhile, Gentiana simply observed him serenely.

“You… you can see what I’ve been through, then,” he said when he could speak again.

“Indeed,” Gentiana said. “The King’s Hand has been true to his calling, through difficulty and strain.”

Ignis had so many questions, all stuck in his throat. At last, he managed to focus on one. “You call Ardyn the Accursed,” he said. “Why is that?”

Gentiana considered him for a moment more. Finally, she closed her eyes again, and walked past him, measured and serene. He turned and followed in her wake.

“The tale of the Accursed is one of centuries,” she said. “He is tied to the fate of the Chosen.”

“Noct,” Ignis whispered. 

Gentiana paused, half-turned, and cocked her head. “The King’s Hand cares for the King of Kings,” she said.

“That goes without saying,” Ignis replied.

She peered at him. “The scent of other worlds is on you,” she murmured. “Perhaps… perhaps the King’s Hand is the key.” She turned to face him.

He squinted at her. “What do you mean?”

“Fault for the Scourge on our Star lies at the feet of the Astrals,” she said, and subtly, the heavy gowns she wore melted away, her skin became a wash of icy blue, and before him, wreathed in flowing silk, stood…

“Shiva,” he breathed, and fell to his knees. “You’re…”

She nodded serenely. Frost laced across the floor where her feet touched the carpet. “The Astrals themselves brought the Scourge,” she said, “and yet lay their hopes on the shoulders of humankind to vanquish it. The Draconian sought to concentrate the Scourge in the form of the Accursed. Drawn into one place, it could then be overpowered by one who had the blessing of Providence. 

“In many worlds, this is the fate of the King of Kings. But if there is a way… A way wherein the cost is not so great, then… perhaps in one world where it was not fated to be, the King of Kings may live.”

Ignis scrambled to his feet. “Tell me,” he said. And he was surprised at how calm he sounded, with the turmoil of emotion he was feeling.  

She put a finger to her lips, as if in thought. “The aura of the Crystal’s connection surrounds the King’s Hand. Is it possible…?”

In answer, Ignis opened himself to the direct connection he had to the Crystal -- to  _ a _ Crystal -- from his own time as prince. It yawned open for him, and this time he welcomed that feeling of power.

Shiva must have sensed it in him. Her eyes widened slightly and she nodded. “In that world, a different Chosen would have been set on the path… and now the King’s Hand brings a piece of that calling to every world he visits. All he lacks is a Ring.”

“I didn’t have it in that world,” Ignis said. “I don’t even know who  _ did.” _

Shiva’s mouth turned in a slight smile. “If the King’s Hand can bear even a portion of the burden, there is a chance to turn Providence. Surely even the Draconian will see.” 

“Why are you helping me?” Ignis asked. “You’re of  _ this _ world. Why would you care about what happens in mine?” 

Her answering smile was both kind and sad. “The Astrals are tied to all worlds -- and though their visage and purpose may change, yet they are the same. And in all worlds, the Glacian grows to care about the fate of humanity.” Then she cocked her head. “The Accursed seeks; if he is denied longer, the path of the King’s Hand shall prove difficult.”

“But--” 

“The High Messenger will watch, and will assist where she can. Go. May the King’s Hand find the answers he seeks.”

“But I…” 

Between one blink and the next, he faced Gentiana, robed and serene, and not the Astral she had revealed herself to be. Her eyes were again closed. “I will see the King’s Hand to his rest,” she said.

And now Ignis did not dare to say anything, for Ardyn was surely listening now. “Yes, of course,” he said, and followed Gentiana to a sleeping chamber. She opened the door for him

He entered. She did not follow, but stopped at the threshold and smiled at him cryptically. “Sleep well, King’s Hand,” she said, and closed the door.

Alone, Ignis fought the trembling in his hands. He wrestled with a swell of hope that threatened to weaken his knees. Ardyn would surely be here soon… but Ignis had the support of an Astral. What that would entail, he didn’t dare guess, but perhaps his chances in this game had improved.

“So what did  _ she _ have to say?” 

Ignis whirled around to face Ardyn, who lounged in the room’s broad window seat, staring out at the crowd below. He languidly turned his head to Ignis -- but his smug expression was only a fine veneer over something far more sinister. Ignis had a feeling that he would need to tread carefully. 

“Come, now,” Ardyn said. “You two had quite the chat. Surely you can share it with me.”

“When has anything Gentiana has said  _ ever _ been straightforward?” Ignis hedged.

Ardyn stood abruptly and his smile had an edge to it that Ignis didn’t like. “I like to avoid divine notice when possible,” he said. “I think we’re done here.” He snapped his fingers.


	27. Dragon's Hoard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis finds himself in a dragon's hoard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing time has gone kind of caput over the last couple weeks... which means I've exhausted my buffer for Cracked and am now writing chapter to chapter. That means there may be delays in posting, as much as it pains me. I will do my best to keep to my regular schedule, but life has to take priority. 
> 
> And I want to make sure my writing is up to snuff before I post! So... thanks in advance for your patience!

Ignis blinked, and nearly dropped the can of Ebony he was holding into his lap. He just managed to catch it, then clenched the arm of his camp chair with his other hand to steady himself. He exhaled slowly and glanced around. 

He was in a haven. The tent loomed behind him, and he faced out into the dark. Night had fallen. He could hear Gladio’s heavy, even breathing -- not  _ quite _ snoring, but still loud. The cooking station was cleaned up. It was late enough that he shouldn’t be drinking coffee, but… perhaps he was on watch? That would make sense. He looked up at the myriad stars above. 

In the dark it was difficult for Ignis to pinpoint where on Eos they were, but it looked like their haven was on the edge of a wooded area, with dark trees looming behind them on one side, and a slope descending into darkness on the other. The moon was a mere crescent and cast too little light to illuminate anything.

The dark around them echoed with sounds of nocturnal life. It was almost peaceful, and if circumstances had been any different, he might have enjoyed it.

But he couldn’t. Not with Gentiana’s --  _ Shiva’s _ \-- words ringing in his ears. 

He stood, too anxious to sit. He set the half-full can of coffee on the cooking table and paced. 

Gentiana had given him much to think about. Ardyn was the Accursed, the living embodiment of the Scourge, daemonic energy drawn into one place, and bound to Noct’s fate as ordained by the Astrals. And yet… at least  _ one _ of the Astrals thought that fate could be turned. 

That Ignis could help. 

But she hadn’t explained  _ how. _

She hadn’t given him any clues whatsoever, aside from his aberant connection to the Crystal. To  _ a _ Crystal, at any rate. Ignis couldn’t very well summon  _ her _ to find out. Ardyn was already cross about Ignis’s previous conversation with her. He seemed to know that Gentiana was more than the messenger she took as her guise. Ignis could only hope that if she approached him, she’d be circumspect… If she’d come at all. She’d said she would watch, and help where she could… what that help would entail, he had no idea.

Thinking about it only made him more anxious -- enough so that he didn’t hear the tent open or notice he wasn’t alone anymore until there was a soft touch on his elbow.

Ignis jumped. 

Prompto flinched backwards and made a small noise. 

“Six,” Ignis hissed. “You startled me.”

_ “Yeah  _ I did,” Prompto laughed. "Sorry ‘bout that! You okay?”

“Yes,” Ignis said, on reflex. “Yes, I’m fine.” 

Prompto cocked his head. “You’re lying,” he said. It wasn’t a question or a guess. There was something in Prompto’s tone -- some firm insistence. His eyes flashed in the light of the haven’s fire. “You know I can tell when you’re lying. What’s wrong?” 

Ignis swallowed. “I’m not sure I can say.”

Prompto looked hurt. “Please, Iggy…” 

Ignis turned away. He wanted to be able to confide in someone, but knew Ardyn would observe it and, at the very least, interrupt. As earnest and kind as Prompto was, Ignis was convinced he would do Prompto no favors by explaining the extent of everything that was wrong. “I’m sorry, Prompto,” he said. “I don’t wish to trouble you with my problems. Just give me a moment, and--”

Prompto’s hand grabbed his bicep. “Then something IS wrong!” Prompto said. “Please, what is it? What can I do to help??” 

Ignis met Prompto’s pleading eyes, puzzled. This was unlike the Prompto he knew; his own Prompto would have given in as soon as Ignis had demurred; would have backed away, apologized, and left him alone.

Now, however… Prompto’s hand trembled against Ignis’s arm. “Iggy… please,” he said. “You know I can’t take it when my people are in distress.”

“Your… people?” 

“Prompto?” came Noct’s sleepy voice from the tent door. He ducked through the tent door and walked over to them, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”

Prompto whirled to face Noctis, and gesticulated wildly. “Something’s wrong with Iggy, and he won’t tell me what it is!”

Noctis sighed. “Specs, we’ve talked about this before… I know you’re a private person and all, but when it comes to Prompto and his hoard, it’s better to just be honest.” 

Prompto’s… hoard? 

“Let me protect you, Iggy, whatever it is,  _ please... _ ” Prompto begged. 

“Protect  _ me?” _ Ignis said. “I’m sure that’s not--”

“Uh, Specs…” 

“What, Noct?” 

Noctis shifted uncomfortably, eyes on Prompto. “You, ah, should just fess up before--”

“Before wha…”

The question died on Ignis’s tongue as he watched Prompto’s face lengthen, his skin turn scaly and greenish, and his eyes, still that bright purplish-blue, shifted. His pupils dilated and then narrowed into slits. Leathery wings unfolded from his shoulders, and a long tail curled behind him. “Let me protect you,” he said again, voice deeper and rumbly. A Prompto-sized  _ dragon _ stood where Prompto had been -- and then it started to grow. 

It split through Prompto's clothes almost immediately. Ignis yelped and stumbled backwards only to trip over the camp chair he’d been sitting in. The dragon took advantage of his clumsiness; it lunged forward to wrap its large (and still growing) arms around him and lift him bodily from where he'd fallen. Ignis heard himself scream, heard Noctis yell, and then another noise that might have been Gladio… and then he was ever so gently placed in the vortex of the dragon's coiled tail, which then tightened as the dragon curled itself around him and covered him with a wing. Then everything stilled.

Ignis was wrapped in scaly coils.

They weren't so tight that he couldn't breathe, at least, but he could see nothing, surrounded by dragon. He had very little wiggle room… and around him, a thrumming noise started up. Quiet. The coils around him vibrated with it. If he weren’t so stunned and half-panicked, he would have thought it comforting. 

"I… Ignis?" Noctis called. 

"I'm all right," he answered somewhat breathlessly. 

"So much for sleeping," he heard Gladio grumble.

"Are  _ you  _ all right?" Ignis asked.

"Yeah," Noctis answered. "He's knocked over the tent, though."

"We'll just have to move it," Gladio said. "Ain't gonna get him to move until he's done being broody."

_ "Broody?" _ Ignis said. "What in the Astrals' good name are you--" 

"You  _ know _ how he gets about his hoard, Specs," Noctis said testily. "Until he's sure you're okay, he's not gonna let go. So you'd better make terms with whatever's bothering you so we can get moving in the morning."

Ignis certainly was  _ not _ okay. He'd just found out that Ardyn was the nexus of the Starscourge, and even though Ignis had an Astral on his side, he had no idea what shape her assistance would come in… 

… and now he was being smothered by dragon. A dragon that was  _ Prompto. _ A dragon Prompto who was upset… because  _ Ignis  _ was upset?

Ignis could hear rustling somewhere beyond the coils. Gladio and Noctis, shifting their campsite to accommodate Prompto’s huge body. Around him, the thrumming continued, and grew. 

Gladio chuckled. “Don’t think he’s ever purred this loud,” he said. “You must really be upset, Ignis…” 

“What is he--” Ignis started, then yelped when the dragon shifted slightly, and a huge nose poked underneath the wing and nuzzled at his head. It poked its great nostrils right in his face and huffed at him, and he squinted in its dry, warm breath. It smelled faintly of charcoal.

“Awww,” Noctis cooed. “You know, he really is kinda cute when he gets this way.” 

“You think this is  _ cute?”  _ Ignis hissed.

“Now, now, Iggy,” Gladio said. “You’re supposed to be calming down, remember? Otherwise he’ll never let you go.” 

Ignis sighed. “Alright,” he said. “Alright. I’m calm.”

Noctis snorted. 

So did Prompto, and the force of it on Ignis’s face made him gasp. 

“Very well,” Ignis said testily. “I’m NOT calm. I am very,  _ very  _ far from calm. But wrapping me up like this is not going to help me! Please let me go. Please.” 

“You think that’s gonna work?” Gladio said.

But Prompto made a whining, grumbly sound that rattled Ignis to his bones, and then the coils around him relaxed. The wing lifted, and Prompto folded it against his back, and then peered down at Ignis, his great eyes somehow plaintive and beseeching. 

Ignis swallowed against his natural instinct to flee. “Prompto,” he said as gently as he could. “I appreciate your concern, I truly do. But since I’m not being physically threatened, there’s nothing you can do to help me. I just need to work it out myself, and it will take thought and time. Please, let me go.”

Prompto whined again, but then uncoiled his tail from around Ignis -- slowly enough that Ignis was well able to get his balance before the tail withdrew entirely.

Ignis stood for a moment, getting his equilibrium. He took in the stunned looks Gladio and Noctis were giving both him and Prompto-the-dragon. 

“I can’t believe it,” Gladio said. 

“If you don’t mind,” Ignis said, addressing the dragon, “I need to take a quick walk.” 

“Iggy, I really don’t think--” Gladio started, but Ignis stalked away without heeding it, quickly scaling the hill behind the haven. Prompto made an odd, mournful grumble as he entered the trees. 

He paced along the edge of the forest, close enough to make for the haven quickly should daemons appear. He could still feel Prompto’s eyes on him -- indeed, through the trees he could see the dragon perched at the haven’s edge, watching. 

… This was not helping him sort things out.

He stopped pacing and sank down behind a large trunk, facing into the depths of the forest. He leaned back against the tree and sighed. This was all so much more complicated than he wanted it to be. One of these times, he would land in a world where he wouldn’t be able to hide that he wasn’t the right Ignis. He wondered what would happen then. What Ardyn would do.

A hissing burble brought him suddenly to his feet.  _ Daemons. _ Of course. The sound echoed through the trees, but in the dark, he couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. He summoned his daggers to his hands --

And then Prompto crashed into the forest, hissing and thrashing, and breathing fire that kindled the trees and illuminated the hoard of Bussemands with orange light. 

Ignis backed away to avoid Prompto’s flailing and the branches he knocked from the trees. Prompto had tucked his wings against his sides to weave through the trunks. They twitched as though the dragon itched to spread them wide, to take to the air, to lay waste to the daemons. As it was, Prompto’s teeth were enough, and he tore through the Bussemands with ease. Their powerful blows did nothing to deter him.

Distracted by the enormity of a  _ dragon fighting daemons, _ Ignis failed to notice the chittering goblins until they were on him. It was a quick, hot fight to disentangle himself from them -- and then Prompto roared again, as more Bussemands popped up from the ground. Ignis cursed under his breath and backed away -- 

And then everything froze. 

Ignis’s breath rang harsh in the silence, and the sudden chill turned each exhale cloudy as it left his lips. In front of him, Prompto crouched, shoulder muscles bunched up, claws flexed; his mouth was wide open, exposing a mouthful of glistening, finger-length teeth. Ignis eyed them. Eyed the Bussemand frozen in the act of jumping away from the dragon’s mouth. He swallowed.

Something like static buzzed in the back of his mind, low like the hum of a distant machine.

Then he saw her. Stepping serenely through the midst of the frozen chaos, Gentiana approached. The thick smoke swirled in eddies behind her. In her outstretched hands lay a long staff. As she drew closer, Ignis recognized it as the Scepter of the Pious, which they’d found in the depths of Malmalam Thicket.

Gentiana stopped in front of him. “Hand of the King,” she said. “Traveler of worlds. The High messenger offers a boon to aid against the Accursed.” 

Ignis realized he was staring and shook himself out of it. “That’s… that’s a Royal Arm.” 

Gentiana nodded. 

“Those belong to the  _ King.”  _  To Noctis. To the Noctis of  _ this  _ world.

Gentiana seemed to read his thoughts. “The King of this world will find enough arms to aid in his quest, even should he find more than one tomb empty.”

“But I’m not--” he started, then hesitated, for the buzzing in the back of his mind grew with every step of Gentiana’s approach. 

Its source was the weapon in her hands. 

Without thinking, Ignis mentally probed his princely connection to the Crystal and it yawned open for him, a dizzying rush, resonating with the weapon Gentiana held. Unthinking, he reached a hand out, nearly touched it, then jerked back when the scepter glowed blue and rose from her hands. He watched it float above them as all the Royal Arms had done for Noctis, crystalline blue and mesmerizing. Then it shot forward point-first and he didn’t have time to raise his hands to defend himself before it pierced his chest -- and disappeared. 

He gasped and clutched his hands to his chest. Now he understood how stunned Noctis always looked after accepting a Royal Arm. It took Ignis a moment to calm his pounding heart. When he did, he reached for that armiger -- the full power of the Crystal -- and found not just the simple sword and greatsword, but the scepter as well, ready to spring to his hand should he need it. 

The Royal Arm had a weight none of his preferred weapons had. Ignis could feel it, even without it in his hand… the weight of its magic, and of its tie to the Lucii. 

Gentiana clasped her hands in front of her. “It is done,” she said. 

Then Prompto was roaring, the Bussemands crying out under his claws, the smoke choking Ignis’s lungs. He staggered away and searched for Gentiana in the chaos -- but she was gone. 

At this point, he knew the best thing for him to do was flee for the haven. He made for the edge of the trees, but before he got there a tall shape detached itself from the shadows. Ardyn tipped his fedora. Ignis stopped dead in his tracks.

“What a lively evening,” Ardyn said, and swept past Ignis without sparing him a glance. Instead, he faced the melee -- Prompto, tearing into the daemons; the smouldering fire -- and spread his arms wide. “Such a magnificent champion for his friends. Would you look at that.” Then he half-turned and cocked his head towards Ignis. “And you. Do you appreciate what your friend does for you?”

Ignis grit his teeth and said nothing.

Ardyn slowly stepped towards him. “I seemed to lose track of you for a moment there,” he said. Dragonfire illuminated the ominous twist of Ardyn’s smile. “Care to explain?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ignis lied. “As you can imagine, I’ve been a little preoccupied.” He gestured at the dragon. 

Ardyn’s mouth became a thin line. “So that is how it will be, is it?” he said quietly. “Very well.” 

Distantly, Ignis heard Gladio and Noctis calling his name. He met and held Ardyn’s eyes.

Ardyn’s lip curled, and he snapped his fingers.


	28. True Love's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis must wake sleeping beauty...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is still insane and likely to get moreso in the next few weeks. I'll update as I can!

Ignis blinked… and clutched reflexively at the reins in his hands as the chocobo between his legs lurched backwards. 

Daemons boiled from the ground around them, chittering and clamoring. His chocobo -- a handsome bird with white plumage and elaborate tack, tensed and let out a furious “Kweh!” It kicked, and the nearest goblin fell, torn from chin to groin by the chocobo’s fierce claws. 

Ignis could only hold on for dear life as his chocobo fluttered and lashed out -- but it wasn’t enough. The daemons’ numbers overwhelmed the poor bird, and at last pulled it down into submission, dragged Ignis off its back, and seized his arms and legs. He summoned his daggers to fight them off, but even with his knives in hand, he was desperately outnumbered; the creatures held tight and knocked his weapons free. They disappeared into the armoury again.

At last, the goblins held him fast, two or three to each of his limbs, and one pushing his head down into the ground. He could no longer move. 

Why weren’t they  _ killing _ him?

A hissing noise bubbled somewhere in front of him -- he couldn’t move his head to see -- but he recognized the voice, when heavy footsteps finally approached him. “Well well well, what have we here,” said Ardyn.

“What do you  _ want?” _ Ignis spat.

“Oh, manners,  _ manners, _ dear Prince.”

Ignis clamped his mouth shut in surprise. 

“Let him up,” Ardyn said, and the goblins relaxed their grip just enough to pull him to his feet. The daemons kept their tight hold on Ignis’s arms, and despite how he wrestled against them, their bony hands only clutched him tighter.  Ignis finally had a chance to notice the billowy white shirt and blue overtunic he wore; the leggings, and the leather boots. And the cape. And the gold chain. He. Was a  _ fairy-tale prince. _

Then Ignis got his first sight of Ardyn and froze. This was not HIS Ardyn; this one wore flowing black, with wicked horns that curled up from his brows. His eyes shone amber in the darkness, and he held a staff topped with a crystal that glowed green. 

“I set a trap for a peasant, but see what I have found instead,” Ardyn said, lifting Ignis’s chin with one finger. “Such irony, that the beau our dear  _ Noct Gar _ pined for is  _ his betrothed.” _

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” Ignis said. “Where--”

“What is this!”  Ardyn’s face assumed a look of mock surprise. “Could it be that you do not even  _ know?” _

Ignis needed to stop talking. He had no idea what mess he was in this time, but running off at the mouth was certainly not going to help him figure it out. Luckily,  _ this _ Ardyn liked to hear himself talk as much as Ignis’s own Ardyn did.

“Where do you  _ think _ your beloved peasant could be, that you seek when you should be meeting your betrothed on his sixteenth birthday?” this Fae Ardyn coyly announced. Then he caressed the crystal on the end of his staff and a vision opened for Ignis -- a vision of Noctis, laid out in state, crown on his head, eyes closed as if in death. “You see?” Ardyn said. “Despite the ridiculous name he gave you, your peasant that you came to search for is  _ the Prince of Lucis.” _

The way Ardyn emphasized “Prince of Lucis” seemed to indicate he expected some kind of reaction from Ignis. When Ignis gave no reaction at all, Ardyn’s brows twisted with puzzlement. Then he squinted. “You  _ knew.” _

“Of course I know Noctis is the Prince,” Ignis said without thinking. “Who else  _ could  _ he be?”

“But how?” Ardyn turned and started pacing. He swung his staff in a wide gesture. “Those blasted fairies squirreled him away as a baby, almost as soon as the curse took hold -- not even  _ I  _ knew where he was.” He stopped and jabbed the staff at Ignis’s chest. “And you were but a wee lad. How could you possibly  _ know?” _

One particular word in Ardyn's diatribe stood out. “Curse?” Ignis said. “What curse?”

Ardyn stopped his pacing and pinned him with those uncanny yellow eyes. “Why, to prick his finger on the barb of a fishing hook on his sixteenth birthday and die, of course,” he said, as though Ignis should already know. 

The Ignis of  _ this _ world probably  _ did  _ know. Drat.

“Except that blasted Prompto,” Fae Ardyn continued, shaking a fist, “twisted the curse to be ‘sleep until true love’s kiss’, the confounded fairy. But I'm putting a stop to that. You, dear Prince,” and Ardyn pointed at Ignis, “are going into my dungeon to stay as my personal guest for a hundred years -- and we'll see how true love's kiss works for you when I finally let you out again.” 

Then Ardyn turned on his heel and stalked away, and the goblins pulled Ignis along in his wake.

The journey to Fae Ardyn’s castle was long and very unpleasant. Ardyn simply walked, not looking back. The goblins hurried in his wake. They’d thought to bring the chocobo as well, and the bird loudly protested and tried to get to Ignis at every opportunity. Finally, the goblins tied Ignis to its saddle and dragged it by the reins.

When they arrived at Ardyn’s fortress at last -- tall, dark, and intimidating -- Ignis was thirsty and bone tired and desperately needed to relieve himself. When he was shoved into a dank-smelling, straw-lined cell with no water and only a small pot in the corner, he was aghast.

The barred door slid closed behind him, and he whirled around just in time to see Ardyn’s cruel smile as he turned an intricate key in the lock. “Sweet dreams, fair Prince. Here’s to the future union of both your nations… in the next hundred years.” 

Then he swept away and was gone.

 

* * *

 

Ignis knew this fairy tale, he decided, as he sat in the moldy-smelling, insect-infested straw. He rested his forehead on his arms and wished fervently that he could wake from this nightmare. Somewhere in the intervening hours since Fae Ardyn had left him here, goblins had brought him stale bread and tepid water to drink. Ignis had forced it down, not knowing when (or if) he’d be fed again. The conditions in the cell were appalling. If this Fae Ardyn truly intended to keep him here for a hundred years, he was certain he wouldn’t last.

But if events stayed true to the fairy tale, he simply had to wait. 

… Ignis considered himself a patient man, but he was tired of waiting.

He tried not to think about the implications that  _ Noctis _ was Sleeping Beauty and he, Ignis, was Noct’s betrothed. He tried not to think about Prompto being the fairy that turned the curse. Instead, he hoped that the goblins were taking good care of the chocobo. The poor bird didn’t deserve foul treatment. 

Then he heard something -- the first noise he’d heard in hours that he hadn’t made himself. A faint rustling, high above, where an opening he’d already discounted as too small for him to escape through led to the outside world.

Ignis looked up, but there was little for him to see in the dark.

Then there was a sharp hiss, and a voice. “There he is!”

“Prince Ignis!” said a second voice. 

Ignis quickly stood and brushed as much straw off of him as he could, and squinted at the opening above.

Just barely, in the dark, he could see two little figures, one of them waving. They held tiny sticks -- wands? -- with points of light at the end. Then the two of them zipped down to him through the air. 

In the light of their tiny wands, he could see them now: Gladio and Prompto. _Fairies,_ both of them, no bigger than Ignis’s hands. Their gossamer wings buzzed to keep them aloft. They were dressed much the same as Ignis himself was, Gladio in bright golds and Prompto in reds, and the color of their tiny lights corresponded to their clothes.

“I’m so glad we found you!” Prompto said, breathlessly. “We gotta hurry and get you outta here!”

“On it,” Gladio said, and flew to the barred door. 

“You need a weapon,” Prompto said. “Here…” And a spark flew from his wand to Ignis’s palm -- a spark that grew into a full-sized sword in Ignis’s hand. “And here…” Prompto said again, and this time the spark flew to Ignis’s other hand and resolved into a shield.

There was a click, and the barred door slid open. “Let’s split this joint,” Gladio said. The two fairies flew out the door, and Ignis followed as closely as he could.

They led him through the fortress, guiding him through corridors and halls and up stairways. They found his chocobo in the stables and released it as well. Once Ignis was mounted, they made swift progress through the fortress, until they came to an open courtyard -- and then someone finally raised an alarm cry. 

“Quickly!” Prompto yelled, and they rushed to the gates. The goblins there gave up quite a fight, but the fairies magicked the goblins’ weapons into flowers, and foiled every front they put up to keep Ignis from escaping. Gladio forced the gate with a burst of powerful magic, and then they were in the forest. 

It was a long journey. The chocobo kept a steady pace, and the fairies led the way. The path was clear, even in the dark; and Gladio and Prompto headed off the dangers of the forest, while Ignis did his best to stay mounted, in spite of the fatigue pulling at him. 

“Nearly there!” Prompto shouted from ahead -- and then, Ignis’s chocobo pulled up with a sharp “Kweh!”

Before them, a wall of wickedly-thorned vines blocked the path with its twisted brambles and tangled stems. 

“Your sword!” yelled Gladio’s voice by his ear. “Quickly; You can cut through, but we’ve gotta get you through there to Noctis before--”

“Too late!” shouted Prompto. 

The brambles in front of them erupted in a column of green flame, searingly bright in the night. Ignis raised an arm to shield his eyes. He lowered it again when the flames died down, only to see Fae Ardyn standing where the column had burned itself out. His eyes flashed, and he clutched his staff in his raised fist. 

“You thought you would be the handsome prince, ready to rescue his beloved, didn’t you,” he said. “Well, you’ll have to get through me first.” 

And then the column of flame rose again -- and with it, Ardyn grew and his form changed and Ignis’s mouth fell open as he watched the flame turn to shadow and resolve into the huge looming shape of a great dragon.

“Dragons… again…” Ignis muttered. 

Above him the dragon laughed -- a coughing sound so like Ardyn’s chuckle. 

The struggle was brief and fierce -- but this Fae Ardyn was not an immortal daemon, and his dragon form was refreshingly mortal. Together, Gladio and Prompto ensorcelled Ignis’s magically-conjured sword, and with a strategic throw, Ignis was able to put it through the dragon’s chest. Its dying screams were oh, so satisfying. 

But the fairies didn’t give him time to gloat. They tugged at his tunic and guided him through the sleeping castle, full of slumbering attendants and a large crowd gathered, their heads on each others’ shoulders or pillowed on their own arms or on the ground even. “They came to see the Prince,” Prompto whispered to him. “They thought the curse was foiled, and they came to celebrate.” 

“Some celebration,” Gladio muttered. “Kid just couldn’t keep his hands off a fishing pole once he finally saw one. The dupe.” 

Ignis did not chuckle. He didn’t. He  _ did _ follow the fairies up a set of stairs spiraling into one of the tall towers. He  _ did  _ follow them through the door to a bedchamber. And there, as Fae Ardyn had shown him, Noctis lay in state. He wore a formal suit, gloves and all, and a delicate crown on his head. Gladio tugged at Ignis’s sleeve. “C’mon, Highness,” he said. “True love’s kiss should break the spell.”

“Wha… what?” Ignis stammered. 

“Well, they did only just meet yesterday…” Prompto said. “That’s a bit quick for a true love’s kiss, I guess.”

“But it  _ should _ work… Noct was completely smitten,” Gladio said. “And  _this_ Princy here,” he poked Ignis’s arm, “ran away from  _ this _ celebration because he didn’t want to marry a betrothed he hadn’t seen in sixteen years.”

‘I  _ what?’  _ Ignis almost said aloud.

The fairies both looked at him expectantly.

He swallowed.  _ Where was Ardyn?  _ Or Gentiana, for that matter… either one would be welcome right at that moment.

He knelt by the bed and took Noct’s gloved hand in his, and kissed the back of it. Noctis remained still and unmoving on the bed.

“What. Was that.” Gladio said.

_ “True love’s _ kiss,” Prompto said. “It’s gotta be  _ true love’s kiss. _ Nothing else will work.”

“That wasn’t enough?” Ignis managed, weakly.

“Hell no,” Gladio said. “Try again.”

Ignis stifled a frustrated exhale. He leaned forward and kissed Noctis on the forehead.

Gladio heaved a sigh. “I can’t watch this.” He zipped out of the room. 

“Um…” Prompto said. “Everything okay, buddy?” 

No, everything was  _ not _ okay. Ignis was exhausted, had been in a dungeon for most of the day, he still smelled  _ absolutely rank _ from it, and… they were expecting him to kiss Noctis, on command. While they watched. Not just  _ any _ kiss; a “true love’s kiss”. That was patently impossible. As far as Ignis was concerned, this wouldn’t be happening until he was gone to the next world.

But he couldn't very well tell Fairy Prompto that.

Prompto peered at his face -- and then his eyes widened and his mouth made a little o. "I get it," he said, with a smile. "Shy guy. It's cool, alright? Look, I'll just… ah… step outside and then you won't have an audience. Just… ah… don't do anything naughty, kay?" And he flitted out, following Gladio.

Ignis tried to hold back the heavy sigh but he couldn’t help it. He looked down at Noct’s sleeping face -- so young and innocent, reminiscent of his high school years. 

He almost didn’t notice the cold seeping into the room -- and when he finally did, Gentiana stood opposite him, on the other side of Noctis’s bed. Across her outstretched hands lay the Sword of the Wise.

Ignis scrambled to his feet. “You!” he said. “But… this world is a fairy tale.” 

“And yet the Line of the Chosen King still exists,” Gentiana said, “as does the power of their Arms.”

Ignis could only gape. 

Gentiana smiled. She raised the sword to him. “Take it, Traveler of Worlds, King’s Hand.”

Ignis reached for the weapon. Just as his hand hovered over its hilt, the blade glowed and rose from Gentiana’s hands, and hovered before him for a mere heartbeat before flying into his chest and disappearing.

Ignis gasped and rubbed at his sternum. He looked up at Gentiana and she nodded. “The King’s Hand must claim what would be his, to defy the Accursed,” she said, as she dissolved in a sparkle of blue frost. 

Then the frost spun in a swirl of shadow, and Ardyn stepped forward, taking his place where Gentiana had been. He glared at Ignis over Noct’s sleeping body, his mouth a thin line. He said nothing.

Ignis swallowed. “Now would be a good time to leave,” he said, and gestured at Noctis. “I fear I am not qualified to satisfy the terms of this curse.”

“Don’t play coy with me, boy,” Ardyn said. “I know  _ she  _ was here. I may not know what you’re playing at, but trust me, I can make your life  _ most _ unpleasant.”

“I am keenly aware of that,” Ignis said. “Get me out of here. Take me back to  _ my  _ Noctis. End this game now.”

Ardyn sneered. “Not yet. There is still much for you to consider… many more alternatives to explore.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Ignis snapped.

“Oh, I think not.” Ardyn’s sneer turned into a wide grin. “An alternative will present itself… it’s just a matter of  _ finding _ it.” Then he snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn as Maleficent. I just can't get over it. XD


	29. Dragons of Lucis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis is about to be a living sacrifice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _[weeps at how long it's taking to write these days]_
> 
> In broken-record fashion, I'll just say... Life is crazy, and I'm posting as I can. Thanks for continuing to follow this crazy fic!

Ignis blinked. Abruptly he realized, with extreme discomfort, that his wrists were bound behind his back -- and in the next moment, he nearly tripped on the ankle-length diaphanous white _gown_ he was wearing.

“Easy,” said a voice to his left, and then he was aware of hands on his upper arms. “We’ll be there soon.” 

There was a snuffling to his right, and he looked up -- and saw his uncle, or rather a less-aged version of him, towering above Ignis, his face a mask of misery. 

The man looming to Ignis’s left -- Cor? -- said, “It’ll be over quick, never fear. The Caelum dragons are merciful.” His voice was grim.

Ignis’s uncle made a coughing sob. “He’s just a boy,” he choked.

What in all Eos had Ardyn dropped him into now, Ignis thought, dread growing in his chest. 

 

* * *

 

The two men flanking him guided him carefully up a rocky path on what he quickly recognized as Angelgard. The spires shaded them from the rising sun. The path was rocky and difficult for his bare feet and uncoordinated muscles. Ignis was in a young body again, maybe the age when he first met Noctis. That explained his uncle’s “just a boy” comment, but little else. 

His wrists chafed against the binding, even though they weren’t tight. The hem of the gown swirled about his ankles in the ocean breeze, and tangled in his legs as he walked. The men beside him said nothing more, but steadied him when he stumbled. Ignis didn’t know what to ask, or how.

At the top of the path, a cave yawned open. Large cauldrons on plinths at either side of the entrance burned brightly, casting further shadow on the cave mouth. The two men pulled him to a stop in front of the mouth. Cor stepped aside, but Ignis’s uncle knelt in front of him. His eyes brimmed with moisture and his mouth twisted miserably. 

“What’s going to happen?” Ignis asked. His voice sounded so innocent and small.

His uncle pulled him into a tight hug. “I wish I could tell you, Ignis,” he said. “It’s been ages since the dragons demanded a sacrifice. Just… know that you’re loved.” Then he pulled back and grasped Ignis by the shoulders. He could barely look Ignis in the eyes; his cheeks flowed with tears. 

“What’s going to happen to _me?”_ Ignis said.

“You’re to be given to the dragons, remember?” Cor said, behind him. “They… will decide what to do with you, once they’ve accepted you.”

“Accepted me? The dragons?” 

Cor nodded and gestured to the cave. “Time to go in,” he said. He stooped and untied the rope from Ignis’s wrists, and then gave Ignis a gentle push towards the cave mouth. “Off you go,” he said. His voice was slightly rough, and he looked away. 

Ignis’s uncle had turned his back, his shoulders shaking. 

Baffled, Ignis turned to face the cave. What kind of world was this, that they would condone the sacrifice of children to _dragons?_ But Ignis wasn’t going to get any further information here, it seemed… Best to move forward, as he’d always done. He stepped into the dark.

The passage inside the cave was wide and tall and made him feel impossibly tiny. It quickly darkened. Ignis thought his eyes would adjust with time, but no such luck; as soon as he was outside the range of the braziers at the cave’s mouth, he could barely make out anything. As he walked, he held a hand out and let it trail along the wall to guide him deeper.

He stepped carefully, anxious not to stumble. His toes, already raw from the rocky path outside, seemed to catch every rock and stone. It didn’t occur to him to be anxious about the “Caelum dragons” or whatever it was that Cor had called them. He wondered if his uncle and Cor would keep a vigil outside the cave until he came out. Or didn’t. 

He could only hope that bearing the name “Caelum” meant these dragons were in some way tied to Noctis. Somehow.

When he stumbled for the tenth time, Ignis grit his teeth and contemplated just… stopping. The last few whirlwind worlds had given him little time to breathe. He still had the copy of that ‘Episode Ignis’ script in the armiger, taunting him with its prescience, and he hadn’t pulled it out for… he wasn’t sure how many worlds.

He wondered where Gentiana -- _Shiva_ \-- was in this world. 

Then the wall suddenly dropped away from under his hand. At the same time he stumbled and pitched forward. The grit of the sandy path bit into his knees and palms and he hissed between his teeth at the sharp pain of it.

A door slammed shut behind him. With a rush, torches lit both left and right of him. He felt the magic of it waft over him, raising goosebumps on his skin. He gasped, and looked up -- and up, and up -- into the vast hall the torches illuminated. 

It was filled with a dragon. 

Ignis swallowed the scream that wanted to come out. He scrambled backwards until his back met the solid door that had closed the passageway. 

There was nowhere to run. 

The dragon, regal in bearing and covered in steel-blue scales, canted its head to one side and peered at him with a great blue eye. Then it raised its head. “Come, Noctis,” it said, in a voice that thundered in the open cavern. “Come greet our guest.”

A hatchling barely longer than the great dragon's foot climbed over the dragon's talons and stepped with purposeful care towards Ignis. Its gait was like a toddler's, as though it was just becoming sure of its balance. It paused a body length away from Ignis. 

The creature had an infant's proportions… A larger head with a shorter snout, great blue eyes, limbs slightly too short for the size of its body. Its tail ended in a rounded club, and a pair of spindly wings too small to be functional unfurled from its back. Its scales from head to toe were black tipped with silver, burnished orange in the torchlight.

Ignis swallowed and carefully stood. "You're Noctis?" he said incredulously.

A swirl of blue magic fire obscured the beast, and when it faded, in the beast's place stood Noctis -- four-year-old Noctis, just as he had looked when Ignis had first been introduced to him.

Instead of answering, Noctis looked up at the dragon looming above them. “I like him, father,” he said. “He’s not afraid.”

Ignis looked up too, at the dragon -- Regis -- and now saw the likeness: in the line of its jaw, the wisps of grey whiskers around its face, and at its brow, a thread of delicate horn that resembled the crown of Lucis.

“You are mistaken,” Ignis found himself saying. “I am very much afraid.” 

Noctis looked back at him and smiled.

“He’s honest,” Regis boomed. “Well then. What is your name, young one?” 

“Ignis Scientia.” 

“Very well, Ignis,” Regis said, more gently. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our home.”

“Aren’t you going to… to eat me?”

“Is that what they told you?” Noctis said, sounding miffed.

Ignis didn’t actually _know_ what they told him. But both his uncle and Cor had acted as though he was going to his death.

“We will not eat you,” dragon-Regis said. “My son is in need of a companion. It is our way, when we are blessed with a new hatchling, to find for them a human comrade and guide. He will one day lead our people. All I ask is that you stand by him and lend him your strength -- as a friend, and as a brother. Please… take care of my son.” 

Ignis gaped up at the dragon -- gaped at the words that so closely echoed what Regis had asked of _him_ when he was introduced to his own Noctis. 

“Will you?” Noctis asked, and Ignis turned his eyes back to the young dragon prince. “Will you stay?” 

Without hesitation, Ignis extended his hand. “I will. Of course I will.”

Noctis took his hand -- and as soon as their palms met, fire rushed through Ignis’s veins. He cried out and tried to let go, but Noctis held firm. The pain raced through his whole body and he squeezed his eyes against it, breathing in short gasps as it raced up his arms, through his shoulders, to every extremity, and crawled over his scalp. When it faded at last, he found himself held firm by an arm around his shoulders. Noctis still gently held his hand, but behind him… 

He looked up -- and it was King Regis, no longer a dragon, but a man, clad in his formal royal garb. He smiled at Ignis, gentle concern in his eyes.

“Forgive us,” he said. “The binding is painful, but necessary.” 

He helped Ignis to his feet again. Ignis shook his hand -- it still smarted -- and looked at his palm. On it there was now a tracery of lines, raw and red and radiating out from where Noct’s skin had made contact with his.

“You’re my brother now,” Noctis said, his voice tiny and serious. 

Ignis was always Noct’s brother -- ever since Regis had introduced them as children and entreated him to guide his son. This world would be no different in that regard, at least. He wondered vaguely what else this “binding” entailed. 

“Come,” Regis said, and put a heavy hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “Let’s find you some proper clothes. I have yet to figure out why the humans decide their offerings must come dressed in such impractical attire.”

“Perhaps they reason it will be harder to pick out of your teeth,” Ignis said dryly.

Noctis snorted. 

Regis gave a quiet chuckle, and Ignis felt his mouth curl in a smile. 

Regis and Noctis led him through the vast cavern into a corridor behind -- a large corridor for humans, but tiny for dragons. Ignis wondered if they stayed in dragon form all the time, unless they had human company. The corridor led to a set of rooms, and Regis ushered him into one that he said would belong to Ignis. 

“Noctis will stay across the hall from you,” Regis said. 

Ignis’s suite was furnished with properly human facilities -- a fine ensuite and a wardrobe filled with a variety of perfectly appropriate clothing for a young person of Ignis’s apparent size and age. Regis and Noctis gave him some privacy to change, and he quickly did, shedding the white belted gown for a simple button-up and khaki shorts with suspenders -- typical of what he was accustomed to wearing as a child. He was just lacing up his shoes when a rustle of fabric drew his attention to the door.

Gentiana stood there. Across her hands lay the Swords of the Wanderer.

Ignis shot to his feet, his laces forgotten. “Gentiana,” he said. 

“The King’s Hand arrives,” she said to him, “and the High Messenger awaits, and bears this gift.” She stepped into the room -- flowed, more like; Ignis couldn’t even see that her feet were moving -- and stopped in front of him. She raised the Swords to him.

Ignis reached out a hand to touch them, and the joint weapons glowed and rose from her palms, then flew into his chest and disappeared in a shower of blue magic sparks. He rubbed at the place it pierced him. Each time he really expected it to hurt more, but it just tingled.

Gentiana smiled and nodded. “Bear them well against the Accursed,” she said. “May the King’s Hand have safe travels on his journey.” And just like that, Ignis was alone again. 

He stared blankly at the place where Gentiana had stood. He had so many questions -- and few of them were being answered. But now he had another arm to add to his arsenal -- and he could only hope that it would be useful in the end.

Ignis sank into the chair behind him and sighed. 

A knock drew his attention to the door. “Are you ready?” Noctis said.

“Almost,” Ignis answered, and turned his attention back to his shoes. 

“Ah, such a fine and studious-looking young man.”

Ignis whipped his head around and shot up from his chair again. Ardyn stood by the open door to the wardrobe, fingering the sleeve of a tiny suit jacket. Ardyn cocked his head and peered at Ignis with a sinister half-smile. 

Ignis stiffened.

“Such an interesting world, this,” Ardyn said, and stepped away from the wardrobe. “To be raised under the protection of such magnificent royal beasts… With the attention of one of the Astrals as well, it seems.” His mouth turned from its half-smile into a straight, firm line. He strode forward and, before Ignis could react, Ardyn grabbed his collar and lifted him bodily from the floor. In this body, he could only grab at Ardyn’s wrist and flail his legs. “What did you _do_ to attract her notice?”

Ignis’s breath hissed through his teeth, but he didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really; he could barely breathe, the way Ardyn’s grip tightened on his collar. 

Someone knocked on the door. "Ignis?" came Noct's tiny voice.  

Ardyn gave Ignis a little shake and then dropped him to the floor. Ignis crumbled into a gasping heap at Ardyn’s feet. 

"Ignis, is everything all right?" Noctis called.

Ardyn ignored it. “Well," he said,  "perhaps I can leave you here, to begin your life anew as the young prince’s companion.”

“No,” Ignis rasped. “No, I need to… get back to... _my_ Noctis.” 

He couldn’t see Ardyn’s face. Perhaps he didn’t want to. His hands clenched into fists against the tiled floor, and he struggled to catch his breath while he stared at Ardyn’s unmoving boots. 

A warbling sound came from the other side of the door, and something heavy pounded against it.

“Very well,” Ardyn said at last. His stance shifted and he stepped away from Ignis. “You refuse to tell me what role the Glacian has chosen to play, but I shall find out, regardless.” 

Ignis had a brief impression of the chamber door shattering, but before he could see what caused it, Ardyn snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dragons! I think the last three? chapters? have had dragons in them! XD


End file.
